


I Love You Most

by hailsatanstyles



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Orphanage, Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, Angst, Anxiety Disorder, Bullying, F/M, Homophobia, Jealousy, Love Triangles, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2014-04-11
Packaged: 2017-12-11 20:17:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 26,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hailsatanstyles/pseuds/hailsatanstyles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Harry and Zayn's mission to make Liam, Harry's adopted brother's, life a living hell.  When Liam goes away to summer camp and returns home, everything has changed, including Liam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

Liam’s attention is 78% focused on the apple he’s eating, 14% focused on the crisp  spring air flowing through his open window, and 8% focused on his English coursework that’s open in front of him.  He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, kicking his legs up on his desk, leaning his chair backwards.  The breeze ruffles his hair and he finally feels relaxed for a moment.  Finals are next week and he’s been in overdrive ever since he realized he was only one point away from a 4.0.  One point, and Liam was determined to get that perfect average so he could get into the Uni he’s applying for this summer.  Every night at dinner it was all he could talk about.  While Harry told their mum and dad about how he talked his way out of detention, Liam discussed his paper on horror motifs in _Frankenstein_.  If you were to ask Harry, the ‘one point quest’ (as Liam referred to it) was more of an obsession driven by his need to be an insufferable loser, to which Liam reminded Harry that he’s not the one taking algebra for the third time.

 

Pounding music turns onto the block, overpowering the jingle of the ice cream truck, followed by tires screeching to a halt in their driveway, signaling Harry’s return home.  Liam peeks out the window to look down at the driveway, leaning on his desk with one hand, and biting another chunk of his apple with the other.  The song keeps talking about prostitutes and getting some, and it’s such a typical song for his brother to be blasting from his tiny red car that Liam rolls his eyes.  Harry’s parked the car, but doesn’t turn off the ignition, making sure the engine noise and music pollutes the whole world, because that’s the way he is, he’s not happy unless the world is bending to him and what he likes.  Liam can see his lanky body crawl into the passenger seat, so that he’s on top of Zayn and messily kissing him.

 

He groans audibly, Liam has no problem with gay people, but something about Harry and Zayn’s _relationship_ freaked him out a bit.  They’re best friends, and have been since before they adopted Liam, but the two fuck like rabbits so it makes for some uncomfortable moments in the Styles household. “Turn down your prostitute music, Harry!  I’m trying to do my coursework.”  Liam calls out loudly.

 

Harry’s curly head bobs a bit and pops out the car window, “It’s not prostitute music, it’s Lykke Li, you uncultured swine.  Go to the library if you’re going to be a pain in my ass.”

 

Harry gets shoved over and now Zayn’s hanging out the window as well.  “If you want, I’ve got something to help you stop being so uptight, Leeyum.”  Zayn draws out his name in a sarcastic drawl and waggles his dark eyebrows suggestively.  Harry knocks him in the shoulder and pulls him back into the car to grind his hips against Zayn’s, kissing fervently at his skin.  

 

Liam shoves his apple in his mouth, swinging his window closed, and snapping the curtains closed in a huff.  He goes back to his paper, and begins writing about the moon and it’s importance in the work of Mary Shelley. 

 

 

-

 

Later that night Liam is looking for a snack in the fridge when he gets flicked in the ear, and his shirt is roughly un-tucked from his pants.  He drops the cup of yogurt he’d been holding and turns around with wide eyes.  Zayn is leaning into Harry, holding a hand over his stomach, they’re both laughing.

 

“Honestly Liam, you do realize it’s almost summer, yeah?  What’s with the chinos and button up tucked in all proper.”  Zayn gasps out through his laughter.  Liam frowns looking down at his clothes, then at his yogurt cup, and back at his brother and Zayn.

 

“I like my clothes.”  He replies, but he doesn’t sound confident in his words.  That’s where the problem lays, the exact reason why they constantly torture Liam.  Harry and Zayn are like vultures, and they feed on Liam’s low self-esteem, and make him feel dumb when he’s anything but. 

 

Harry snorts, “I can see why, it’s definitely helping you with the ladies.”  Zayn laughs and gives Harry a congratulatory slap on the back, his nose scrunching as he does.

 

Liam bites his lip and ignores the falling in his chest, because he should be used to this by now.  He turns and gently closes the door to the fridge and walks away with Zayn calling after him, “Seeya round, mate!”  He can picture the devouring grin the boy with the tattoos is probably giving him and he holds back a groan.

 

He has his essay to finish and he hadn’t been that hungry anyway.  To hell with the cup of yogurt that would sit on the floor until tomorrow morning when he left for school, he thinks.  He flops on his bed and crosses his arms behind his head, trying to convince himself it didn’t bother him that he had no friends, or that his brother hated him, or that his best mate was a prick whose life mission was to make Liam uncomfortable.  Liam just wanted that 4.0.  That’s all that mattered.    

 

Rap music starts blaring through the speaker system of the upper floor where his and Harry’s rooms are, the beat is mellow and Liam notes that the lyrics are about smoking weed and having sex, _typical_.  That’s when Harry’s headboard begins slamming against the wall, shaking Liam’s Academic Excellence Award that hangs above his bed. 

 

“Christ.”  Liam mutters, taking his pillow and fitting it around his ears to drown out the sound of Zayn’s moans.

 

At least Harry put on music to drown it out this time, not like last week when he almost threw up after hearing Harry saying, “God, you’re _so tight_ , Zayn.”

 

This was his life.

 

-

 

It’s midday and Harry and Zayn are in the cafeteria with a group of their friends.  Niall and Harry discussing the pros and cons of sneaking out this weekend to go to an underground concert in London, while Perrie sits quietly texting on her phone and twirling a strand of hair around her finger.  Zayn sees Liam across the room sitting by himself hovering over an open book, his tongue caught between his lips in a concentrated manner.  If he weren’t sitting next to Harry, he’d go over and keep him company, because as much as he teases Liam about his obsession with his homework, or pegs him with the ball when they play dodge ball in P.E., he thinks he’s a nice kid.  They’d been mates before Harry deemed him uncool to hang out with; Zayn just never had the will power to fight him on the decree.  Zayn would never tell Harry that he kind of had a crush on Liam since they were eight years old.  “Stop giving my brother heart eyes you prick.”  Harry accuses with his green eyes narrowed angrily at Zayn.

 

Zayn jumps back to the conversation and everyone is staring at him. “I-I…” he starts.

 

“I-I…” Harry mocks, making a stoned face.  Everyone at the table laughs at Zayn’s expense and then resumes eating and talking.  Harry nudges Zayn’s shoulder with his head, and leans into his ear, “Don’t forget you’re mine, Zayn.”  He pulls back and it’s one of those rare times you see a vulnerable glint in his normally mischievous eyes.

   

Zayn puts a calming hand on Harry’s thigh and presses their lips together so light that it could hardly be called a kiss.  “Haz,” he breathes, “you’re my best friend. We’re okay.”

 

He can feel Harry’s body relax and Zayn smiles at him.  “So, we’re going to a concert this weekend?”  He asks the table.

 

When the table starts debating the validity of the Kim/Kanye relationship, Zayn chances a glance over towards Liam again.  Liam’s staring curiously at him and Harry, but hurriedly looks down after noticing Zayn.

 

-

 

Zayn doesn’t even know the band that’s performing but he’s always interested in finding new music and to him, there’s no better way than seeing them live first.  They’re good, nothing dreadful like what Niall normally listens to, but Niall’s right at the front singing along to every word with Perrie and their friend Louis who came back from Uni for the weekend.  Harry apparently loves this band, as he’s stated it rather loudly to Zayn six times while moving his body clumsily to the beat.   The set’s almost over and Harry is beyond wasted because according to him _I feel the music better when I’m drunk_ , whatever the fuck that’s supposed to mean.  Zayn’s pretty drunk as well, but he knows he has to keep his head on straight to get themselves home in one piece or without getting arrested like that one time Harry angrily sloshed his beer on a police officer.  Zayn was just looking forward to curling up in Harry’s full sized bed and catching some sleep.

 

“Zayn,” Harry whines, “Z- _ayn_.”  He is clinging to Zayn’s shoulder, nuzzling into his collarbone.  “Take me home please.” 

 

“As you wish, Harold.”  Zayn grips Harry’s arm in a protective manner and pulls him through the crowd and out onto the crowded street.  He doesn’t bother telling the others where they’re going; he decides he’ll send a text to Niall once they’re in the cab.  Harry’s looking up at the streetlamps with wonderment, and Zayn hails the closest cab before he goes all philosophical-drunk on him.  Once he’d spoken to Zayn about the world that lives inside of a puddle of rain for twenty minutes when he was drunk.

 

Harry crawls on his hands and knees into the back of the cab first and Zayn follows, plopping down and slamming the door shut.  He gives the driver Harry’s address and closes his eyes, leaning his head back.  “Can’t wait to go to sleep.”  Zayn mumbles.

 

“No, no sleep, Zayn.”  He can hear Harry shifting closer to him until he feels his lips against his neck.  “Definitely not sleeping.”  He slurs in between sloppy kisses.  Zayn can smell the sticky lemon of the lemon drop shots Harry had been downing all night, and chuckles.  He always drinks whiskey, and Harry always drinks the fun fruity drinks; Zayn thinks it’s very telling of their personalities. 

 

“Really Harry, ‘m tired.  Can’t you go 24-hours without fucking me?”  Zayn replies tiredly, feeling the alcohol more now that they’re in the cab.  

 

And that’s when it happens.  Harry immediately stops kissing down Zayn’s jaw and pulls away as if he’d been burned.  He slowly moves his body away so that he’s on the opposite end of the seat, facing the window with his arms crossed tightly against his chest. 

 

Harry doesn’t like being told no Zayn knows that.  He’s known that since their first play date when he was five and Harry was four and Zayn said _he_ wanted to be the red power ranger.  Zayn has a feeling this a bit different than that though.

 

“Haz?  You have something you want to say to me?”  Zayn prods, though he’s not looking for a fight.  

 

He doesn’t get a fight, he gets no answer, which in his mind, is worse.  Harry won’t even look at him. 

 

-

 

Harry is dead weight all the way up the stairs, and Zayn is trying unbelievably hard not to wake Harry’s mum or dad.  For someone who apparently hates him right now, Harry seems perfectly content with using Zayn as a human transport.  They finally make it to the second floor, and Zayn notices the slight light shining from under Liam’s door. 

 

Zayn closes the bedroom door behind them and Harry is already curled in a ball on his bed, facing the wall.  He lowers himself onto the edge of the bed and toes off his boots.  Tentatively, he puts a hand on Harry’s back, rubbing calming circles into it.  “Can you please talk to me, Haz?  I don’t really know what’s going on here.” 

 

Suddenly he realizes that Harry’s body is shaking slightly and he is sniffling quietly.  “You don’t love me anymore.”   His voice cracks and Zayn is praying to God he continues facing the wall, because he won’t be able to look into Harry’s green eyes filled with tears, he just _can’t_.

 

“Don’t say that, I just dragged your fat ass up those stairs, that’s love.”  Zayn offers half-heartedly. 

 

Harry chokes out a sob and he shakes his head, his curls mussing against the navy blue pillowcase.  “No, you want Liam, I know it.”  He insists through his tears.  “Everyone always wants Liam!  You were staring at him the other day, and you haven’t wanted to be with me since.”

 

Zayn lets out a defeated sigh. “You’re my best friend, Harry, don’t be daft.  So your brother is kind of cute, sue me.  I’m still yours, don’t fucking question my loyalty to you.” 

 

Harry sits up and faces him, face contorted in confusion.  The rims of his eyes are red and his cheeks are blotchy a mixture of drunkenness and crying.  He licks at his lips and slowly tangles his hands in the front of Zayn’s shirt, pressing his cheek against his chest.  “Y’know when he came here, everyone loved him more than me.” 

 

Zayn inhales sharply, and hopes that Harry doesn’t remember any of this in the morning because he’s fairly certain he’s never told anyone this before.

 

“He was better than me, smarter, sweeter, easier to deal with… Mum- Mum and Dad, they loved him better than me once he came here.”  Zayn feels the tears sinking into the fabric of his shirt, as Harry just cries letting Zayn hold him.

 

He brings their bodies down so they’re laying parallel to each other, wiping away Harry’s tears, Zayn kisses him on the lips, nothing desperate, just gentle and pliant against each other till he finally pulls back, “Your mum and dad love you, but remember I love you most.”

 

Harry nods his head with watery eyes and kisses him again.

 

-

 

Liam hears Zayn’s combat boots clomping up the staircase before anything else.  Glancing at the clock he sees it’s about two in the morning.  He’d been up late revising, but had allowed himself the small privilege of sleeping and had closed his eyes only about an hour ago.  He’s not trying to listen, but Zayn and Harry are blatantly drunk and are talking louder than normal.  It almost sounds like they’re fighting, but Liam has to be wrong because Harry and Zayn don’t fight.

 

As soon as he hears his own name come up in the argument, Liam blushes intensely and can’t decide if he should cover his ears with his pillow, or see what they’re saying about him.  He immediately regrets choosing the latter when he hears Harry crying _. No, you want Liam, I know it.  Everyone always wants Liam!_

Liam all but chokes on thin air at those words.  There is no way Zayn wants him.  But apparently he’s wrong and Zayn admits he thinks Liam is cute, and Liam wants to crawl under his sheets and die, because _why him_.  It’s bad enough he has to be afraid to be in own house in fear of Zayn and Harry’s, more often than not, cruel treatment of him, now he has to worry about Zayn _liking_ him.  If Liam wanted to die before, it’s nothing like the crushing feeling of the words that fall through the thin walls separating his room from Harry’s.

 

_He was better than me, smarter, sweeter, easier to deal with… Mum- Mum and Dad, they loved him better than me once he came here._

And that’s the last thing Liam ever wanted to hear.

 

-

 

Liam Payne is eight years old when he’s adopted from the orphanage.  He’s what Miss. Carraway calls a ‘late bloomer.’  He’s kind of chubby and his nose is too big for his face and when families come in to meet the children, he doesn’t talk.  It’s not that Liam doesn’t want a family, each of the kids there wish for it every night before they go to bed, but he’ll admit he’s afraid of finally getting adopted.  It’s his worst fear that after all of these years he’ll finally be chosen, only to be returned. 

 

It’s visiting day and he’s sitting in the common room playing on his GameBoy Color trying to blend in so he won’t be bothered, when he feels the couch dip next to him. 

 

“What game is that?”  A raspy voice curiously asks.

 

Liam doesn’t look up, just continues to punch the barricade in order to save the people.  “Power Rangers.”  He replies politely.

 

The couch bounces as the boy turns to face Liam looking rather excited, “Powers Rangers, brilliant!  I love them; Zayn and I always play that in my yard.  I’m the red ranger and Zayn’s the black ranger, which do you like… What your name again?” Liam glances up, and the energetic boy has wild curly hair and teeth that are too large for his small face.

 

“ ’M Liam.”  He saves his game and shuts off the device.  “I like the blue ranger, ‘cos he’s smart.”

 

“Liam, right, I’m Harry.  Not short for Harold, just Harry.”  He emphasizes with a scrunched up face, offering his hand out.  Liam shakes it with a smile, because it’s rare to meet someone who stays, or someone who is energetic enough to make up for Liam’s shyness.

 

“My mum and dad are looking for a brother for me, they say I’m too hyper to be by myself.  I have Zayn, but I mean, he’s not my _brother_.  Oh, stupid,” Harry knocks himself in the head lightly with the palm of his hand, “Zayn’s my best mate.  You should come over and play power rangers with us one day.  Wait,”

 

Liam’s sitting on the couch, feet planted solid on the floor, absorbing all the energy Harry is radiating.

 

Harry’s eyes widen and his mouth opens slightly as if he’s gotten the best idea in the world, “You should be my brother, Liam!”

 

“ _Mum, Dad_ ,” Harry calls loudly,  “I found a brother!”

 

And that’s how his life as Liam Styles begins.

       

 

-

 

When Liam comes downstairs in the morning, Harry is half naked, hanging his head in his hands so low that his curls are grazing the milk and cereal in his breakfast bowl.  Zayn is in a thin black tank top and boxers, spinning the kitchen stool back and forth as he munches on a bag of sour patch kids.  “Morning, Leeyum.”  Zayn smiles, and Liam is almost positive he’s living in some alternate universe.  Zayn is never nice to him.

 

“Heard you two come in late last night.”  Liam muses, grabbing an apple from the woven basket on the counter, taking a large bite.  “Do anything fun?”

 

Harry grunts eyes downcast on the pieces of lucky charms floating slowly on the milk’s surface.  “Shut up, Liam.” He warns.

 

“We went to see some band with Niall, Lou, and Perrie.”  Zayn offers after seeing Liam’s face fall.  “It was brilliant till _Harold_ had too much to drink.”  He teases, poking Harry in his bare shoulder.

 

Harry lets out a frustrated sigh, pushing his chair away from the counter, “Do you two have a death wish?”  His jaw is set and he looks completely worn down.  He slams his bowl of cereal in the sink and stomps upstairs.

 

“Where’re you going?” Zayn calls out extending his neck to try and watch Harry leave.

 

“Back to sleep!”  And his bedroom door slams shut.

 

Zayn heaves a sigh and wraps up his bag of candy, throwing it into the basket of apples.  He presses up against Liam’s back and Liam’s entire body tenses, “Don’t let him bother you, he’s just a little upset today.”  Zayn’s lips move against the skin of his neck and he can feel the heat of his breath and Liam is _so confused_.  Harry being in a foul mood is normal for Liam, if anything Zayn being nice, and having the audacity to touch him is bothering him more.

 

Zayn quickly un-tucks Liam’s red polo from his blue shorts, “Live a little.”  He hisses, before taking the stairs two at a time till he’s in Harry’s room.

 

Liam can take the bullying and the loud music and the sex noises, he’s used to that after so many years.  This all just seems like some elaborate end-of-the-year prank, to set Liam up and make him look like an idiot.  It’s not like he’d ever been in a relationship before, and he surely never entertained the notion that he liked guys the way Harry did.  All Liam knows is that there is no way in hell Zayn Malik likes him, and he won’t be the victim this time.   

 

-

 

At family dinner Liam is focusing so hard on the peas he’s pushing around his plate he’s almost positive his head may explode.  Zayn is sitting across from him and keeps rubbing his leg and socked foot against Liam’s under the table, trying to get a reaction from him.  His hazel eyes are intently staring at him as Harry talks to their Mum and Dad about how he’s finally passed Algebra and won’t have to have Ms. Wright ever again.  Liam has decided that Zayn is Satan, come from Hell to destroy his family, because whatever he is doing will not end well for any of the parties involved and Liam wished he’d just _stop_ already. 

 

That week he’d been pulled back and forth by Zayn more times than he could count.  While playing footie in P.E. Zayn picked up enough speed and plowed right into Liam who was in goal, reveling in the penalty call, high-fiving his teammates as Liam stayed stunned on the ground.  Afterwards, while Liam was drying off from his shower, Zayn crowded up behind him, running a hand up and down his arm, “I’m sorry I didn’t mean that.”  Earlier today, Zayn had Harry pressed against Liam’s locker, practically rutting up against Harry as he kissed him.  Once Liam cleared his throat to reinstate his existence, Zayn glanced back at Liam and gave him a God’s honest wink.  Now he was playing footsie with Liam in front of his whole family while Harry sat beside him like it was nothing, as if he weren’t being completely misleading and messing with Liam’s head. 

 

“Liam, love?  Are you alright?”  His mum asks with a concerned face.  The whole table is actually staring at him as if he were mental.  He looks down at his plate and his fork is jabbing awkwardly out of the slab of roast beef he was eating and it has multiple puncture wounds as if he’d been… stabbing someone he hated. 

 

“Yeah, ‘m fine.”  He mumbles keeping his gaze away from those dumb brown/green/gold- seriously what the heck color are they- eyes that are practically staring into his soul.  Liam is convinced he needs to get away from Zayn because the fact that he could practically write a sonnet about his eyes doesn’t bode well for him. 

 

“Well,” his mum clasps her hands together in excitement, “I don’t think you heard me Liam, but I was just reminding you two, and Zayn” She smiles at Zayn like he’s her own son, “that your father and I are going on holiday to Paris on Thursday.”

 

Harry visibly smirks a devilish grin and Zayn raises his eyebrows in promise.  Liam on the other hand feels his fork clatter out of his hand and onto his plate with an unmistakable noise.  “But mum, I’m leaving for camp this weekend.  You can’t just leave, how will I get there?” His eyebrows are knit together in a hurt manner.  His trips to summer camp were the only times he ever got to see his friends from the orphanage, especially Andy and Danielle.  It meant the world to him to have this time to be with the people he knew prior to his life as Liam Styles.  His friends from there didn’t make him out to be some insufferable loser, and they didn’t alienate him or tackle him when they played footie, or curse him out, or tell people not to be friends with him, or-

 

“Harry will drive you of course!”  Their mum chirps, and Harry lets out a long groan of displeasure.

 

“I don’t _want to_.”  He whines just as Liam says, “No!”

 

 “You two are brothers, best start behaving like it!  Your mum and I are going no matter what, so pretend like you know each other; or like you, dare I say it, love each other.”  Their dad chastises in a serious tone.

 

“Fine.”  They both quip, crossing their arms over their chest, Harry adding a pout for good measure. 

 

Their mum and dad move to start clearing the table, while the three of them sit in an uncomfortable silence.

 

Zayn looks around between the two of them, then focuses his eyes on Liam, “What’s so good about camp anyway?”

 

Harry’s lip curls up, “It’s the only time he gets to see his reject friends from the orphanage.”  Zayn gives him a disapproving look but says nothing.  “I hope you know we’re having a party the night before you leave to celebrate you finally fucking leaving us alone.”

 

Liam doesn’t miss the sharp possessive glance Harry gives Zayn as he says ‘us.’  He wants to scream until he’s blue that he’s not trying to ruin whatever they are, because he doesn’t care that Zayn smells like smoke and Armani cologne, or that his eyelashes cast shadows across his tanned skin, and he certainly doesn’t think about the water dripping over his collarbones after his shower in the locker room.  _Liam doesn’t care about Zayn_.  This all _his_ fault, not Liam’s.  Harry will never believe that though, because Liam is always the bad guy. 

 

Liam is tired though and he knows whatever he would say back would come out strangled and wrong because his friends are not rejects, and Liam is not the bad guy here, and Liam is so tired of Harry.  Pushing out his chair, he quietly leaves the room and goes upstairs to check his e-mail to see if his final grades are up.  Liam has to believe that something good could come of this week from Hell.

 

-

 

“Keep your feet to yourself, Zee.”  Harry warns casually as he flops down on his bed, using the remote to turn on the speaker system. 

 

Zayn raises his chin defiantly and gives Harry a look of detest.  “You shouldn’t talk to him like that.  He’s your brother, y’know.”

 

“Thanks, Dad.  Of course I fucking _know_ that.  The better question is, do _you_ know that?”  Harry snaps.  “Liam looked like he was about to jump out of his skin.  What have you done to him, Zayn?”

 

He practically chokes on the air he’s breathing, “Done to him? I haven’t done anything!  Hazza, can we stop fighting about this, I’m so tired of you being cross at me all the time.”  He crawls over the edge of Harry’s enormous bed until his body is practically trapping Harry’s body under his own.  “He wouldn’t know what to do with me if he got a chance with me anyway.”  Zayn rocks his hips into Harry’s to show him just what he means.

 

Harry involuntarily bites his lip and closes his blazing green eyes as Zayn begins tugging off his t-shirt to expose his torso that’s scattered with tattoos.  He’s planting wet, almost rough kisses from the ‘V’ of Harry’s hips, to the contours of his ribs up to the dip in his collarbone, till he reaches his neck that’s obscenely bared as he arches his back off the bed.  “If you’re trying to make me forget I’m angry with you, Malik, it’s,” Harry groans as Zayn bites the sensitive skin of his neck, followed by gentle licks and kisses, “it’s totally working.”  He sighs.

 

Zayn has no clue what he’s doing in all honesty, but anything is better than having Harry yell, or worse, cry.  He loves Harry, and that’s not him being selfish, or protective of the curly haired demon he calls a best mate; he genuinely loves him.  At this point in their lives, they’ve known each other longer than not.  He’s almost positive his life would fall apart if Harry ever left him, so why would he throw it all away for Liam.  He can’t sort out his rational, and apparently has no self-control when it comes to messing with Liam and lying to Harry about it.  For the time being, Zayn’s doing the only thing he really knows how to do, make Harry feel wanted with his hips, hands, and lips. 

 

Harry wraps an arm around his neck, dragging him in, “I can’t wait to have you all to myself this summer.” He pants in his ear, and starts on undoing the buttons of Zayn’s jeans.

 

“Me too,” Zayn takes his bottom lip in his own, swiping the skin with his tongue, “ _God_ , me too.”

 

Zayn loves Harry.  If only he could say as much.

 

-

 

Liam is leaning his chin against the palm of his hand, trying to keep himself awake long enough finish revising for his chemistry test.  The library is more silent than usual since it’s late in the afternoon and most of the students on his campus are done with finals.  The sun is filtering through the tall windowpanes, casting shadows over the cubby he’s sitting in.  Liam has been slaving over his textbook and notes for hours now, and two cups of coffee have yet to provide him with any sort of energy. 

 

He smells the familiar cologne before he cranes his neck to look behind him.  Zayn is hovering at the back of his chair with a sheepish grin.  “Shouldn’t you be somewhere?”  Zayn’s face falls at Liam’s tone.

 

“Nowhere to be.”  He spreads his arms with raised eyebrows.  “How long have you been here anyway?”

 

Liam checks the time on his phone before answering, “ ‘Bout four hours now.”

 

“I think,” Zayn starts, leaning over Liam’s shoulder to close his books, “that you need to take a break.”  He reaches for Liam’s hand and pulls him up to a standing position and walks him through the first floor.  When they reach the staircase leading down to the lower level Liam plants his feet, refusing to move any farther.

 

His mind is in absolute overdrive.  “I really think I should go back, I need to pass this test, and you should be with Harry right now, I don’t know why you’re even here in the first place.”

 

“You can go back after you calm down, Liam.”  Zayn tugs gently on his hand and brings him down the stairs to the book stacks.  All Liam can think is _No, No, No, No_ , and _Harry is going to be so cross with me_.  The carpeted floor goes on forever until Zayn turns into the farthest row, the automatic lights flickering on to illuminate the section.  Liam is overcome by a warm feeling in his belly when Zayn presses him up against the shelf of books by his shoulders.  He kisses Liam roughly, biting at his full lower lip, licking into his mouth.  The “no’s” in his mind are quickly turning into “yes’s” when Zayn runs the palms of his hands slowly down Liam’s chest as he lowers himself to his knees, working on the button to his jeans with ease. 

 

Liam’s practically shaking with anticipation because he’s never done this before, let alone on school property, or in the open where anyone could find them.  He’s painfully hard just looking at Zayn on his knees as he palms Liam through his boxers.  He pulls him out of the material, and Liam’s skin might as well be on fire, when he feels Zayn’s soft hand on him.  “God you’re so fucking hot, Liam.” 

 

In that moment Liam doesn’t know if he’s going to collapse to the carpet or come.  He tangles his hand in Zayn’s smooth hair to steady himself as Zayn begins to pump his hand slowly up and down, twisting slightly as he pulls up.  “P-Please, Zayn,”  He whimpers, wanting nothing more than the sight of Zayn’s lips around him.  

 

Zayn quirks his eyebrow at Liam’s small plea and obliges, licking a strip up the underside of Liam then taking him into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the tip first before going farther down with hollowed cheeks.  Liam sighs and resists bucking his hips at the moist heat of Zayn’s mouth, but his body tenses when he feels himself hit the back of Zayn’s throat.  “Oh _God_ ,” Liam moans, and Zayn hums around him, looking up through his dark eyelashes, mouth spread around his length, red and slick.

 

The lights flicker off in the stack, they’re so still and absorbed in each other.  Liam can’t help the thought of _Harry’s going to kill me_ , but as Zayn bobs his head quickly with more suction, Liam thinks that this is totally worth it.

 

His eyes squeeze shut as Zayn pulls his mouth off of him with a pop,  “You can fuck into me if you want.  I know you want to.”  He smirks, licking his lips.

 

Liam jolts awake and looks around his bedroom, startled.  His Academic Excellence Award has finally crashed off the wall, a casualty of Harry and Zayn’s intense sex in the room next door, which Liam can hear clearly now that he’s awake.  There’s drool on the sleeve of his jumper and Liam assumes he must have had his head resting on his crossed arms when he fell asleep on his desk.  He looks down at his lap and sighs at his erection, but his chest constricts when he remembers what he had been dreaming about, or more rather, who.

 

He spends the rest of the night sifting through online articles about latent homosexual fantasies and tendencies in a concentrated daze, until the sun starts to filter through under his curtains.  Liam’s eyes are bloodshot and watery by the time he decides he’s done, and crawls into bed.  The tears are falling before his mess of curls even touches his pillowcase. 

 

As much as he wants to admit there’s no possible chance of him being attracted to the opposite sex, he knows what he feels around Zayn and is smart enough to know it’s nothing platonic.  There just isn’t any room in his life for the stress of being a sexuality that comes with a stigma.  He needs to be perfect, and to Liam, this is far from it.  He knows his parents would still love him (they understood completely when Harry came out to them when he was fourteen), but he didn’t want to be a burden, or to be branded as ‘the other gay son’.  Liam just can’t handle this on top of everything else in his life. 

 

He cries until he’s dragged under by the sweet release of sleep.

 

-

 

Never in a million years could Zayn explain the reason why he felt the need to push Liam’s bedroom door open gently with the toe of his boot when he saw it was slightly ajar.  Even if he were being interrogated and tortured by the CIA, there would be no logical reasoning in his mind.  This is how Liam makes him feel anyway-- drawn in with no basis.  He has everything he could ever want with Harry, yet every time he sees Liam he’s sucked into his orbit.  The carpet sinks beneath his feet as he slowly walks across it; glancing around in awe at how glaringly opposite it is to Harry’s bedroom.  The royal blue walls are bare, save the award hanging above his bed, which has a plaid comforter tucked tightly over it, as if Liam had a personal maid.

 

Zayn makes his way over to his desk that sits right in front of the front window.  His laptop is open, playing a slideshow of celestial photos, but there’s a small pamphlet-sized book open on the dark wood of the table.  He picks it up and reads the page it’s opened to, and recognizes the author.

 

_The blond boy in the red trunks is holding your head underwater_

_because he is trying to kill you,_

_and you deserve it, you do, and you know this,_

_and you are ready to die in this swimming pool_

_because you wanted to touch his hands and lips and this means_

_your life is over anyway._

“What are you doing?”

 

Zayn physically jumps out of surprise and the book of poetry soundlessly drops onto the carpet.  “Nothing, just…” Zayn stalls, and turns to face Liam, thinking of what to say, “I love Siken too, he’s brilliant.  Harry and I read him all the time.”

 

Liam is standing in the doorway, taking up most of the frame, and it’s just hitting Zayn how muscular Liam actually is for someone who wears chinos and polos, and spends their life in the library.  It’s the set look to Liam’s jaw and his clenched fists at his sides that worry Zayn (even though the veins of his arms are so-so-so fucking hot.)

 

“Get out of my room.”  He warns.

 

Zayn steps towards him, beginning to speak again, and something in Liam _snaps_.

 

“Get the fuck out of my room, Zayn, or I swear I’ll hit you.”  Liam threatens.  “This is the one place I have to myself, I don’t need you ruining that too.”

 

“I’m sorry- I just-” Zayn’s never felt intimidated by anyone, especially not Liam, but he can’t seem to form words to make his mindless breach of privacy okay.  “I wasn’t thinking.”

 

“Exactly,” He hisses, “you weren’t.”  Liam turns on his heel and slams right into Harry who just reached the upstairs landing.

 

He wasn’t going to say anything to Harry about the situation, but he needed to take his aggression out on someone and he seemed like the perfect candidate.  He’d been on edge since the earth-shattering realization he had the night before, and he had no qualms about taking it out on the two people in his life who constantly tortured him, and made him think those thoughts in the first place.  He shoves Harry’s shoulder with the palm of his hand so his back hits the railing that overlooks the foyer.  “Keep your _scumbag_ friend out of my room, Harry.” 

 

“Don’t you fucking dare touch me.”  Harry’s voice is angry but he looks like a trapped animal, eyes wide and hair wild.

 

Zayn puts a, what means to be a calming, hand on Liam’s shoulder.  “C’mon Li, it’s not that big of a deal.”  He reasons, sensing that this fight would get much worse before it got any better.  

 

“What? Now because I’m standing up for myself, I’m the bad guy?” He accuses.  “This is my house too, it’s not just your and Zayn’s damn playground.  I’ve let you walk all over me for too long, Harry.”

 

Harry’s face is scrunched up in upset concentration like he has no idea what Liam is referring to, but he pushes Liam away, hard.  “Then fucking leave if you don’t like it here.  I didn’t even want a brother, I wanted a dog.”

 

And with that, everything goes still.  As angry as Liam was, he’s reduced to a wounded expression and gaping mouth.  He can’t believe his worst nightmare is coming true.  Now he knows that if Harry had the chance, he’d take Liam back to the orphanage and leave him there forever.

 

He takes a ragged breath and steps back a pace or two, “B-But, you picked me.”

 

“Yeah, well I’ve been regretting it ever since.” Harry spits, not caring an ounce about hurting Liam’s feelings.  Liam fucking deserved it as far as Harry was concerned.  He grabs Zayn’s hand and drags him into his bedroom, slamming the door behind them.

 

Liam just stares at the closed door, frustratedly swiping at the tears falling down his face.

 

-

 

Liam is ten years old when he realizes what it’s like to love someone.  Harry is nine years old when he realizes what it’s like to be truly afraid.

 

Liam, Harry and Zayn are having a mini _Harry Potter_ marathon in Harry’s bedroom.  They’re sitting on the plush, navy-blue carpet in front of the television, Liam on his stomach, Harry sitting cross-legged, and Zayn leaning back on the palms of his hands, legs stretched out.  Though they’d all seen _The Philosopher’s Stone_ multiple times at the cinema, and since it had been released on VHS, the boys were still enthralled once the camera panned in on Hogwarts for the first time.  A debate sparks regarding which house each of them would be in after they watch the characters get sorted into their respective houses.

 

Harry puffs out his chest in pride, “I’d be a Gryffindor ‘cos ‘m brave.”

 

Liam and Zayn both give him a challenging look. “Yer not brave, Harry, you’re a little sneak.  You’d be in Slytherin.”  Zayn playfully shoves him over onto the floor.  His hazel eyes find Liam’s brown ones, “If anything, Liam would be a Gryffindor.”

 

“But that’s not _fair_.” Harry pouts, pushing himself back up into a sitting position.  “If ‘m a Slytherin, then you’d be one too Zayn.”

 

Zayn narrows his eyes at Harry, “And why’s that?”

 

“ ’Cos I don’t go anywhere without you?” He reasons, shrugging his shoulders.

 

“Fair point.”  Liam says, standing up and adjusting his white bedshirt that lifted up a bit.  “I’m just going to get us some popcorn, be right back.”

 

Harry is watching Zayn’s face in the darkness of the room, as the movie casts shadows across his features.  His stomach is twisted looking at his best friend and he doesn’t know what to do about it.  Hermione is screaming as the troll smashes the stalls in the bathroom while Harry admires Zayn’s eyelashes and the way they swoop over his tanned skin.  Zayn turns to look at him with his head tilted to the side, silently asking Harry what was wrong.

 

“I’d save you from a troll y’know.”  Harry offers with a small smile, trying to tell his body to stop being weird, it’s _Zayn_ for God’s sake.

 

Zayn grins back, “How very brave of you, Harold.”  He reaches out to grab Harry’s hand, “We may be Slytherins, but we can be brave too.  Just in a different way from people like Liam.”  He drags out Harry’s brother’s name like: Leeyum, and Harry’s always liked that.

 

It takes Harry’s mind a moment to catch up to his body to realize that he’s leaned into Zayn’s personal space, close enough to kiss.  He licks his lips and has no idea what he’s doing but Zayn isn’t moving away, and Harry needs to know if this feeling will ever go away because his best mate is impossibly pretty, and he’s sure he loves him (not in the way his parents love one another, but something similar).  Harry knows this is probably all kinds of wrong and he’s scared and nervous, and he’s never seen two boys kiss before, but Zayn _isn’t moving away_ , and now his eyes are closed and his eyelashes are swooping again, and Harry just _goes for it_.

 

It’s nothing spectacular.  Harry’s never kissed anyone before, so he doesn’t much know what to do with it, and neither does Zayn.  They stay pressed together for a second or two, and when they pull apart they grin like fools. 

 

Zayn tugs on one of his curls, “See, that was bravery, Haz.”  He leans in and presses their lips together again, slowly moving his lips against Harry’s, becoming more comfortable with the idea of kissing. 

 

Someone squeaks in surprise and clears their throat behind them. Harry practically jumps out of his skin while Zayn scoots a pace away from where he’d been previously sitting.

 

Liam is standing in the doorway, bowl of popcorn at his feet, the kernels littering the carpet as a symbol of his complete and utter shock.  Harry rushes to his feet and takes Liam by the hand dragging him to the bathroom in the hallway.  His mind is a broken record of ‘ _No’_ and ‘ _Oh God’_ as he closes the door behind them. 

 

Liam opens his mouth to sound his alarm at the situation but Harry is on his tip-toes, clamping a hand over his mouth, resulting in widened brown eyes. 

 

“Liam, please, please, don’t tell Mum and Dad.” His voice is cracking because he was _so stupid_ for thinking that kissing his best mate was a good idea, ever.  His life might as well be over because what he did wasn’t normal, and his parents will never get that Zayn is amazing, and that he’s the only one Harry ever wants to spend time with.  He might as well just lie down in the middle of the road and wait for their neighbor, Mr. Hopkins, to run him over with his car.  Harry doesn’t even realize he’s crying until he sees Liam’s eyes soften.

 

Liam pulls Harry’s hand away and wraps his arms around the younger boy’s body, pulling him in close.  “Harry, I would _never_ say anything to hurt you. You just shocked me is all.  If you want to kiss Zayn, kiss him.”  Liam’s speaking into Harry’s hair, rubbing calming circles into his back.

 

“B-But, he’s a boy, Liam.  I can’t love a boy.”  Harry chokes, body shaking with tears.

 

Liam takes Harry by the shoulders and makes sure he’s looking Liam in the eyes, “As long as you’re not hurting anyone, who you kiss or love is no one else’s business.”  Harry’s cheeks are flushed and his eyelashes are sticking together in wet clumps, “Do you understand me, Haz?”

 

The younger boy nods, his lips still trembling.  Liam holds Harry against his chest until he stops crying.  For the first time Liam realizes how much he loves his brother, because if anyone ever made a fuss over whom Harry happened to love, Liam had a feeling he’d kill them.

 

-

 

Harry walks into the house and kicks his boots off at the front door.  He makes his way into the kitchen and tosses his keys on the granite countertop with a clatter.

 

“Zayn.” He nods at Zayn who is swiveling around on his chair, eating a slice of reheated pizza.  “Glad to see you’ve made yourself at home.”  Harry comments as he opens the fridge to make himself a sandwich so he doesn’t get sick too quickly at the party tonight.  If he’s learnt anything in his sixteen years of life, it’s to never drink on an empty stomach.

 

“You’re joking, mate.  I practically live here.“  Zayn quirks an eyebrow and huffs out a laugh.  “Either way, where’s Liam?  I thought he went with you to drop your mum and dad at the airport.”

 

Harry slams the fridge shut and starts assembling his sandwich in a flurry of angry movements.  “How the fuck am I supposed to know where he is?” He says snidely.

 

“I dunno,” Zayn shrugs shaking his head, “Y’know ‘m pretty tired of your attitude Haz.”

 

He turns to face Zayn, eyes blazing and arms crossed against his chest. “Yeah?”

 

“Yeah.”  Zayn responds flatly, pressing his lips together, unsure if he wants to even bother arguing with Harry in this moment.  They should be getting the house ready for the party, not fighting like a married couple.  “He used to be our friend, incase you don’t remember.  He was one of us, I don’t know why you insist on being such a giant prick all the time.”

 

Harry barks out a laugh and leans his palms, long and pale, against the countertop, so he’s closer to Zayn’s face.  Zayn knows this is his way of trying to intimidate him.  “If you’re so worried about him, go look for him.  Maybe you should try going into his room again and sneaking about, that seemed to work brilliantly for you yesterday, Zaynie.”

 

Zayn feels his face heat up as he remembers the pure embarrassment he felt when Liam yelled at him to get out of his room.  He was so fucking stupid to think that was a good idea.  Harry pushes his curls away from his face and shoots a sharp grin at Zayn, knowing he’s won the argument for now.  He forgets his sandwich and crawls into Zayn’s lap instead, letting his mouth absorb all the negativity between them until there was nothing left but sweet suckles and deep licks, as he pulls at Zayn’s inky hair.

 

“I’m sorry,” Harry presses his forehead against Zayn’s, their noses bumping, and Zayn can feel the moistness of Harry’s mouth on his. “I hate being so jealous all the time, I’m a right terrible boyfriend to you. It’s just—You know how bad I am at sharing.”  His wide green eyes are closed as he nuzzles himself into Zayn’s neck.  “I wish I could change for you.”

 

Zayn’s carding through Harry’s curls, breathing in the cheap floral shampoo he’s always used, and his clean smelling cologne.  “I don’t want you to change, Harry.  Love you just the way you are.”  He mumbles into the younger boy’s skin.

 

Harry perks up at that, smiling wide, “Well that’s good, ‘cos at this point I can’t change.”  His eyes darken a bit, and Zayn notices the mischievous look settle onto his striking features. “I’ve got an idea.” Harry positions his body so he’s straddling him as best he can on the kitchen chair.  He leans into the shell of Zayn’s ear so his breath sends shivers down his spine, while he drags a hand down the front of Zayn’s shirt till he’s found his way under the waistband of his jeans and boxers.  “Let’s say, I fuck you against the counter, and the first one of us to come, has to set up for the party.”   

 

Zayn whimpers and nods, and remembers exactly why he loves Harry so much.  His free hand is pulling at the neck of Zayn’s undershirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it to the floor. He can’t help but buck his hips into Harry as he drags his fingernails against Zayn’s chest and palms Zayn slow and teasingly.  Their mouths clash with desperate intent, messily slotting against each other and looking to bruise.  Harry pulls away to yank off his own shirt, desperate to feel Zayn’s mouth on his skin.   His hazel eyes are shining and the pupils are blown wide, but the smirk is still distinguishable. 

 

“Z- _ayn_ , do it or I’ll take my hand out of your pants.”  Harry whines, breathless from kissing his mouth into the blushing color they are.

 

He blinks, thick eyelashes kissing his skin, feigning innocence, “Do what?”

 

Harry bounces on his lap with impatience, all too aware of how hard they both are, “Prick, you know what.” He hisses.

 

Zayn licks his top lip, followed by the bottom and reveals the sharpness of his canine teeth in a devouring half-smile.  He leans against Harry’s chest, kissing the plane of pale skin from his collarbone to his nipple, gently licking, and sucking at the skin till it hardens.  He arches his back, curls tickling his neck as he sharply inhales.  “T-That, Zayn.”  Zayn bites at the raised skin of his nipple instead, the pain goes right to his dick, and Harry needs Zayn about five minutes ago.  He takes his hand off of Zayn and out of his jeans, and scrambles off his lap, dragging him to his feet as well.

 

“Get your damn pants off and get your ass up on the counter.” Harry demands.  Zayn opens and closes his mouth, and finally pulls his jeans down to the floor.  Harry picks Zayn up by the waist and puts him on the edge of the counter, his black boxer-briefs blending into the black of the granite.  His skin is burning up and the stone works to cool the backs of his thighs as he props himself up because Harry is dragging his underwear down his thighs to his knees.  He puts his hands on Zayn’s tensed stomach muscles and dips his body low, jerking his cock slowly, “I’m going to take you down until you’re begging, Zayn.”

 

“F-Fuck.” He breathes, his eyes falling closed.

 

He continues pumping, wrist twisting and he thumbs over the slit, “Then I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll never forget you’re mine.”

 

“Y-You’re mine too, fucker.”  Zayn groans in reply.

 

“I have all the control, Zee, hope you’re ready to lose.”  Harry ghosts his lips over his cock, then swallowing the tip, he moves down until he almost hits the back of his throat.  Zayn’s head is swimming at how beautiful Harry looks like this, and how desperately amazing it feels, no matter how cliché that sounds.  His lips are spread wide, and he moves his head back and pops off to lick the precome that’s leaking from the tip.  Harry’s perfected the air of cheekiness that radiates even when he’s sucking Zayn off.  He can tell he’s enjoying it, which makes it all the better.  Harry’s fingertips are digging into his hips, to steady himself as he takes all of his length in his mouth, bobbing quickly with hollowed cheeks.  There’s a rosy tinge that’s creeping up his cheeks and Zayn’s cock is throbbing, and his lower abdomen is taught with pressure, not wanting to come yet.  Harry grabs Zayn’s hand and laces it through his own curls, pushing his head down farther down his cock, signaling it was okay to make Harry do as he pleases. 

 

“Fuck Harry, you’re hungry aren’t you.”  Zayn chokes out, moving the younger boy’s head at a faster pace, his hips begging to meet the thrusts.  He’s so close to release.  “So fucking beautiful.”

 

Harry’s nails dig into his hip and he knocks Zayn’s hand away from his curls.  He pulls up slow with impossible suction and pops off, grinning with a slick mouth.  “Thought I was gonna let you come?”  He rasps, taking a few steps back to undo his belt.  Harry is the picture of gorgeous-- his jeans pushed to his ankles, and his striped boxer-briefs tented, approaching Zayn again.

 

He reaches to wrap a hand around himself but Harry grabs his wrist tightly.  “No, that’s not allowed, Zayn.”  A desperate whine escapes his mouth, as Harry pulls himself out of his boxers and beings stroking himself with closed eyes and a small smile.  “Get off the counter and prop yourself up.”  Zayn obeys, bracing his palms against the edge of the counter, shuddering with anticipation.  He can feel Harry’s smooth body line up behind him, his cock nudging at him needily.  His thin fingers reach around to grace his lips, silently asking for him to take them into his mouth.  Zayn takes in one, then two, then a third, swirling his tongue with ease, creating slight suction because he knows how Harry loves it.  When he pulls his fingers out of his mouth they’re practically dripping with spit and his cock throbs painfully knowing what comes next.  Harry rubs at his entrance, the moistness and the familiarity sending a jolt through his system.  “Just fucking _do it_ alre-” his words break off into a loud groan as Harry wastes no time pushing two fingers in.

 

“What was that, babe?”  Harry leans fully against his back, his words tickling his ear as he crooks his fingers inside and spreads them apart.  Everything is slipping in and out of focus, and Zayn’s skin is on fire waiting to be touched, but he knows Harry would rather the world end than let Zayn come that easily.  Harry grips his shoulder tightly as he slips a third finger in, making sure he’s prepped enough.

 

“You ready?” Harry rasps in his ear. 

 

Zayn gasps when the fingers are gone and he feels empty, until Harry lines up and pushes in slow until his hips are pressed flush against Zayn’s ass.  Harry let’s out a light pant followed by hitched breaths.  Zayn cranes his neck to see Harry with his flushed cheeks and wild curls, “Touch me, please.”  He begs, his balls are drawn tight and he fucking needs Harry to touch him, or move, or do _something_ , because he may just die.  He doesn’t even care if he loses anymore he just wants to come, and his boyfriend is the biggest tease on planet earth.

 

Harry places a kiss on his temple and pulls out almost fully, then back in, creating a slow rhythm, and Zayn pushes back into it out of habit.  The only sound in the room is the smacking of skin on skin and their desperate sounds.  Harry has a hand digging into his hip to control the motions if he wants, and he finally, _finally_ wraps the other around his cock, using the precome to slide at a fast pace, twisting and rubbing over the slit with a tight grip.  Zayn’s biting down on his bottom lip so hard it may be bleeding, but he’d have no idea.  His muscles are clenching around Harry and he’s impossibly close to coming and his heart is beating out of his chest.  “Babe, come.”  Harry whispers in his ear and he’s coming in bursts over Harry’s pale fingers as he continues working him through his orgasm.  His nails are dragging down Zayn’s back as he thrusts deeply until finally he comes too, hips stuttering with a desperate motion in and out of Zayn.

 

He kisses from the nape of Zayn’s neck down to the center of his back, eyes closed enjoying the lucid after feeling of his orgasm.  “You’re perfect.” He murmurs.

 

“I love you.” Zayn says, tilting his head back to meet Harry’s lips in a slow kiss.

 

Harry pulls out and Zayn makes a small sound in the back of his throat to note his displeasure.  He wets a kitchen towel and tosses it at Zayn.    

 

“Well, that was great fun, but,” Harry starts, hopping up on the counter, spreading his body out so he’s laying on his side with his head propped up by his palm, “I’ll lay here naked watching you clean and prepare for the party, loser.”

 

Zayn frowns, yanking up his boxers and stepping one leg after another into his jeans, “You’re a-”

 

“Bastard, I know babe.” Harry grins.

 

-

 

Liam figures he hasn’t moved from the corner of his bed in a solid three hours, maybe more.  There’s something about the wall meeting the bed and the comfort of being curled up small enough to fit, like nothing else could possibly hurt him there.  His curls are poking out of the hood of his sweatshirt, and he’s hugging his knees to his chest and he’s comfortable.  It’s always good to feel comfortable when you feel like your world has gone to shit. 

 

He’s even contemplated climbing out his window, onto the roof and jumping off.  But he probably wouldn’t even die, and that thought process is the alcohol talking more than anything.  When it was still light out, Liam snuck into Harry’s room and nicked a bottle of vodka, all the while hearing the disgusting fuckfest between Harry and Zayn in the kitchen.  He hasn’t come out since, and he broke open the bottle about 40 minutes ago, locked in the room with only his own thoughts while the rest of the house erupted into electropop music, and people talking, singing, and dancing.  Liam can actually feel the house pulsating.  When Harry throws a party, he throws a party, and anybody who’s anybody will come.  Liam just wants them all to leave.  No one has come looking for him or the stolen bottle of vodka anyway; he’s just faded into the background once again.  Not even Zayn’s come to check on him; not that Liam gives a fuck anyway, Zayn doesn’t owe him anything.

 

Liam’s never had much going for him.  His own parents didn’t even want him.  What he lacked in charm and looks, he’d learnt to make up for in his dedication to education.  He learnt that if he wasn’t the most popular, or the one to be picked first for the kickball team (he wasn’t even _bad_ at sports, he’s actually very good at sports, no one picked him anyway), he would have to live off of academic praise.  He was the first to be able to read the Harry Potter books on his own, the first to memorize the multiplication tables, and the parts of a plant cell.  These were the things he lived for and let define him.  People would like him if he could help them with their coursework, mums and dads would want him if he was well behaved and well learnt.  Things didn’t change for him when the Styles family adopted him.  He’s always strived for perfection, he realizes now that that desire might be what ruined his and Harry’s relationship.  Liam never wanted to make Harry look stupid.  He loved, no, _loves_ Harry.  He’ll always be his little brother, even if things between them seem irreparable most of the time. 

 

Earlier in the day his final grades had been posted.  He just missed the 4.0 GPA he worked so hard for all year.  He didn’t have friends, or time off.  His whole life was his GPA and one A- in English of all fucking classes ruined it all; if he’s being honest he just can’t be bothered to try ever again.  Perfect apparently doesn’t exist.  Fuck it all, yeah?  Harry could be the smart one, Liam would back off, everyone would be happy.  Maybe he’d actually make friends next year, try out for a sport, get a _girl_ friend… So many possibilities, and Liam just hopes maybe it will fix his relationship with Harry.

 

His bedroom doorknob twists and Liam’s whole body tenses when the door opens noise floods into the small space of his room and cuts off when it shuts.  “Hey, I’ve been looking for you!”  Zayn gushes a little too loudly, swaying into the room.  He tries to crawl across the bed into Liam’s corner with one hand propping himself up, and the other carrying his red solo-cup filled with Jack and Coke.  He ends up sloshing it all over himself, Liam, and his comforter.  Liam looks at the fresh stain with disdain.  “What a good hiding space, no one’d ever guess you’d be here.”  He laughs looking around the room with drunken curiosity, his eyes settling back on Liam’s. 

 

“I stole Harry’s vodka.”  Liam says dully, an aching feeling in his chest, like he’s about to have an anxiety attack.  He suddenly realizes he forgot to takes his pills today in his depressed stupor. 

 

Zayn grins wildly at that, “You’re drunk then?”

 

“As a skunk.”  He adds lamely.

 

Zayn’s grin tones down to a pleasant smile, and he takes in Liam’s outfit and slightly inverted and defensive posture, “You look cute, Liam.”  He leans over to place his cup on the nightstand.  His heartbeat is picking up, and Liam’s trying to convince himself that there’s nothing to be worried about, that it’s just Zayn.

 

Zayn scoots closer to Liam, crowding him into the corner, _his_ corner.  He cups his cheek and brushes his thumb under his jaw, gaze sliding from his lips to his eyes, and back to his lips, “It’s okay, no one will find us here.”

 

-

 

Liam is eleven years old and Zayn and Harry are his best friends. 

 

Every day’s a play date, and every night’s a sleepover.  They spend hours playing war in the yard and falling off skateboards, watching movies after dinner, and having ice cream eating contests.  Zayn’s last name might as well be Styles.  Liam thinks Harry might like that best.  The boys don’t know that Zayn’s parents are separating, and that their family is the closest thing he has to stability.  They just know that their best friend is always there when they need him, and everything is great. 

 

Liam’s in the makeshift cabin that’s attached to the swing set in the corner with his legs drawn up to his chest.  Through the slits of fake wood, he can hear Zayn counting to twenty, “You two better have hidden good!  I’m coming after you!”  He hollers.

 

Technically, the cabin is off limits, but Liam doesn’t care.  He wants to win.  That, and he stole Harry’s afternoon snack and once he finds out he’ll be likely to commit murder. 

 

“You’re a cheater, Zayn Malik!”  Harry’s whine carries on the spring breeze.  Every time they play hide-and-seek Harry hides in the lowest tree branch (which is still pretty high up) in their backyard.  He loves to climb that tree; maybe just as much as he loves jumping off and having Zayn catch him. 

 

“It’s not cheating.” He declares smugly.  “It’s also not my fault you’re so predictable, Haz.”  Zayn counters with a laugh.

 

“No kiss for you, no!”  He can practically hear Harry trying to squirm out of Zayn’s arms.  “You’re mean and I hate you.”

 

“Oh please,” he scoffs, “just help me find Liam so we can go have a snack.”

 

“Find him on your own, I have cookies with my name on it in the kitchen.”  Harry actually did have his name on the baggie his cookies were in (that were now in Liam’s pocket).  He’s always been possessive. 

 

The back door clicks shut signaling Harry’s departure.  There’s just the sound of Zayn’s crunching footsteps on the gravel by the pool house.  Liam smirks, he’s not even close to where Liam is.  “Liam, c’mon mate, Harry’s gone inside already.”  More footsteps can be heard as his voice travels closer to where Liam’s hiding. 

 

The door swings open and Zayn’s dark shadow takes up the small doorway, “Hey, I’ve been looking for you!”

 

“Well, you found me.”  Liam says, lamely throwing his arms in the air.

 

Zayn looks around the cabin, “What a good hiding space, no one’d ever guess you’d be here.”  His tone is laced with the insinuation that this wasn’t even an option for hiding.

 

Liam ducks his head, blush creeping up his cheeks because he knows he broke the rules of the game and he feels bad.  He offers up the bag that has ‘Harry Styles’ scribbled on it in sharpie- as if there were other Harry’s living in their house.  “I stole Harry’s snack.  You want some?”

 

Zayn doesn’t reply, just looks at him with a stare Liam’s unfamiliar with.  Zayn’s never looked at him like this and it makes his nose scrunch in confusion.  It has a type of determination behind it, and Liam doesn’t quite know if it’s from the game of hide-and-seek, but he’s betting it doesn’t have anything to do with that.     

 

He closes the door of the cabin and sits cross-legged in front of Liam, “You look cute like that, Liam.” 

 

A slight ‘huh’ escapes Liam’s lips, because he’s thoroughly lost.  He just wants to go inside and give Harry his cookies back, and watch episodes of Pokemon until dinner is ready.

 

“When you blush and crinkle your nose, it’s cute.”  Zayn clarifies, giving him a goofy smile.

 

Liam smiles back because it’s polite, “Thanks, Zee.” 

 

Zayn scoots closer to Liam, crowding him into the corner he’s sitting in.  “It’s okay, no one will find us here.”  Liam has no time to register the meaning those words have in regards to the next few moments.  Suddenly, Zayn’s pressing his lips against Liam’s and it’s something that definitely should not be happening, and Liam’s heart may actually beat so fast it stops.  Zayn has his hand on his cheek, and there is no way he doesn’t feel how hot his skin is getting.  Liam wishes he could shed his skin right there, and not be in this situation because he’s a guy and Zayn’s a guy, and Zayn is Harry’s, and Liam didn’t mean to steal Harry’s things. 

 

“No,” Liam tries to say against Zayn’s lips, but for some reason he can’t hear him and Liam can’t breathe.  “Zayn, I can’t breathe.”  He rushes, pushing Zayn away roughly so he falls back on his hands.  Liam’s hands are shaking and he has fingers tentatively touching his lips like they’ve been burned.  His soft brown eyes are narrowed at Zayn in a betrayed manner.

 

“Liam,” he drags it out like ‘Lee-yum’ and reaches to put a comforting hand on his knee, but Liam’s already standing up and moving far away from Zayn.  “I’m sorry, what did I do?  I’m sorry.”  His dark eyebrows are knitted with worry, and he genuinely thinks nothing’s wrong.

 

Then he remembers half of the reason behind Liam’s shaking hands, “Oh god, don’t tell Harry.  I’m just so lonely, Li.  I’m so sorry.”

 

Liam never tells Harry about that day.  Liam never tells anyone about that day.  Liam let’s that day fade into the background and get lost in his mind, because he loves Harry, and Zayn was wrong to kiss him- to force that kiss.

 

-

 

Zayn’s lips are pressing hard against his, and his tongue is sloppy against his own, and Liam can feel thrumming in every cell of his body in a way that makes him squirm.  His hands travel from Liam’s face, down his sides, to where the hem of his hoodie meets the waist of his jogging pants, and the thrumming has turned into full-blown panic.  Suddenly his corner doesn’t feel safe anymore and Liam wishes he had just jumped off the roof like he planned.  Liam’s trying to push Zayn away because he can’t breathe, and he needs space; he needs to forget that this has happened before and is happening again, and he needs to get the fuck away from Zayn, but he keeps kissing Liam with closed eyes and drunken determination.  “Zayn, get the fuck off me.”  Liam gasps, shoving Zayn hard in the shoulders so that he practically falls off of the bed.  He crawls away from him and leans against the wall, hands on his knees trying to catch his breath and stop his head from spinning.

 

“Liam,” he drags it out like ‘Lee-yum’ the way he always has, “I’m sorry, what did I do?  I’m sorry.”  He looks small, and dejected on the rumpled comforter.  A sudden realization comes over his sharp features and his hazel eyes widen, “Oh god, don’t tell Harry.”

 

“I just- I need space.  I’m too drunk for this.”  Liam responds, his tongue too thick in his mouth.  He’s surprised the words even come out.  His head is swimming and he’s not sure what to do but he can’t stop the panic that’s still clawing its way up his chest and into his throat.  He knows this has happened before, and that makes it all the more horrible. Zayn has been a deep-seated problem for him for a very long time.

 

-

 

Their house is by no means a mansion, but it’s big.  High ceilings, and open spaces, and Liam has never had a bad word to say about his house until now.  He can’t find a familiar face anywhere as he staggers through throngs of sweaty bodies that grind to the house music.  There are too many rooms, and too many people, and in all honestly who could he talk to anyway.  Who would he tell that his life feels like it’s coming apart at the seams?  Not one of these people knows him, and no one cares about his struggles or worries, but then he spots Harry’s mop of curls from across the yard.  He hadn’t even realized he’d wandered outside in a drunken daze.

 

“Harry?”  Liam slurs, pushing through a few people who are standing near the edge of the pool, blocking Harry.  “Harry!” He finally gets close enough to put a shaking hand on his brother’s shoulder.  Harry’s friend, he thinks his name is Louis, gives him a questioning gaze but steps back a few paces. 

 

Harry turns around with a confused look, “Liam?”  His confusion suddenly turns to worry as he takes in Liam’s glassy eyes, paleness, and rugged breathing. 

 

“I’ll give you two some space.”  Louis says, stepping far enough away that he can’t overhear their conversation.  Liam decides he likes Louis.

 

Harry grabs Liam by the shoulders and makes him look into his impossibly green eyes.  “I said, are you okay?” His voice is rushed and tinged with concern.

 

“H-Harry,” Liam can barely say his name, he feels so sick.  He’s never drinking again he decides, and he’s never forgetting to take his medication ever again.

 

There’s a hand on his forehead, while another hand continues holding him up.  “Are you drunk?”  Harry asks, feeling down Liam’s flushed cheeks.

 

Liam doesn’t know how it starts, but suddenly he’s crying.  “I’m sorry I stole your vodka, and I’m sorry I stole your cookies when we were younger, and I’m sorry-” he cuts off to sniffle a few times and tries to stop his bottom lip from quivering, “I’m sorry Zayn kissed me.  I’m so sorry, Harry, I don’t know what’s going on anymore.”  Liam is sobbing, expecting Harry to drown him in the pool.  What he doesn’t expect is for Harry’s thin arms to wrap around his body, pulling him into a tight embrace. 

 

“What happened to you? Tell me everything.”  Harry murmurs into his neck.  His voice is gentle, far from the Harry Liam has known for the past two years.  Liam just shakes his head violently, which he regrets immediately.  There is no way he can tell Harry everything— the repression, the doubts, the self-hatred.  “You can trust me, Li.  I know I’ve been shit to you, but I promise, you can trust me.”

 

Liam’s breath is coming rapidly and he digs his fingernails into the fabric of Harry’s shirt.  “I-I, I really can’t b-breathe.”  His chest is collapsing and he’s definitely dying.

 

“You’re breathing, Liam.  Look at me,” He pulls Liam away from him to look him in the eyes, “you’re breathing.  Zayn isn’t here if that’s what’s worrying you, you’re okay.”  Harry leans his forehead against Liam’s the way they used to when they were younger.  His body suddenly goes limp in his arms, and his eyes roll back in his head as he loses consciousness.  “Fuck.”  Harry hisses under his breath, lifting his brother’s body, one arm under his legs, and the other cradling his back.

 

“Lou, come help please.”  Harry calls desperately over his shoulder.  He’s not alarmed though, this has happened before; Liam hyperventilates until he faints when he gets a bad enough panic attack.  Harry just wishes he could do more to help. 

 

 “Fuck, Haz.”  Lou says trailing behind Harry making sure he doesn’t drop him. 

 

Harry’s yelling at people as he carries Liam through the yard and into the house, “Get the fuck out of the way.  Party’s over, assholes.”  He carefully climbs the stairs, until he’s finally in Liam’s room. 

 

“Wait in my room.”  Harry tells Louis as he kicks Liam’s door shut behind them.  He lays his limp form down on the bed and fixes the sheets so he’s tucked in.  His breathing is shallow but he’s fine, he’s always fine; he’s Liam, Wonderboy, older brother-extraordinaire.  Harry runs his hand through Liam’s overgrown curls and brushes them away from his face. 

 

“I’m sorry for what he did, Li.” He says, even though he knows Liam can’t hear him.  “If he ever touches you again, I’ll hit him with my car, swear.”  Harry presses a kiss to his temple and pats the bed twice before getting up and closing the door behind him.

 

-

 

Zayn wanders over to Niall in the backyard with a lit cigarette dangling from his lips.  “Have you seen Liam or Harry?”  He asks with a nervous tone.

 

He’d looked in every room twice, and found no trace amongst the almost hundreds of bodies in the house and outside.  Liam left in such a hurry, and he needed to make sure he was okay.  Harry was someone he needed to intercept before Liam got to him.  He needed to protect Harry from his mistakes. 

 

Niall’s leaning against archway in the yard that begins the path to the pool house.  The blonde boy is silently watching Harry and Liam clutch at each other, the pool water reflecting on their bodies in alien-blue ripples.  Louis is standing a few feet away from them, hands awkwardly in his pockets, waiting for Harry to continue their conversation it seems. 

 

“Mate, not to be a prick, but you’ve weaved a tangled fuckin’ web and you’re too stupid to even see the half of it.”  He examines the edge of the lip of the beer bottle in his hand, and then takes a deep swig from it.  He nervously adjusts his red fitted hat then rubs a hand down his face.  “One day,” he continues, “you two are going to implode, and you’re not just taking each other down with you, understand?”

 

Zayn stares at Harry and Liam, and how Harry’s green eyes are wide with concern, and how Liam’s body is shaking.  His heart feels like it’s in his stomach knowing he caused them to be upset, and knowing he’s part of the reason they’re hardly brothers anymore. 

 

“I think it’s best if you leave.  You staying tonight will only make things worse.”  Niall warns, turning to face Zayn, looking him up and down.

 

He curses under his breath and scrunches his face trying to hold back tears.  He didn’t want to fuck everything up, but he did, and it’s all because he’s starving for anything that won’t make him feel trapped.  He sets his jaw and clears his throat, “I’ll fix things.  This summer everything will be better.”  His hair is hanging low over his face as he puts out his cigarette with the heel of his boot.  Zayn doesn’t even register the narrowed blue eyes that watch his retreating back from across the yard.

 

-

 

Harry steps into his room and revels in the silence that takes over the room once he closes the door and leans his back against it.  He closes his eyes and tilts his head back, exhaling loudly. 

 

Louis steps forward and presses his lips together in a worried manner, “Is he okay?” he asks quietly.  Harry looks at Louis, who is standing with his hands behind his back in a proper style with tensed shoulders.  Harry fleetingly wishes he looked more comfortable; that he had walked in to find Lou stretched out on his mattress throwing a hacky-sack at the ceiling or something.

 

“I can get everyone to leave and start cleaning up while you take care of him, I don’t mind.”  He offers with an open smile.  Louis has always been one of Harry’s only reliable friends.  When things fall to pieces he picks them up and makes sure Harry is ready to face the world again.  Technically that should have always been Zayn’s job.  Harry clenches his fist and shakes his head, pushing the thought of Zayn away.

 

“He’ll be fine, that happens sometimes.  He forgot to take his medication and he’s been stressed lately.”  Harry explains.  Louis nods his head in understanding, his fringe falling into his eyes a bit.  Louis knows he doesn’t want to talk about it, he usually understands what’s going on in Harry’s head before he can even verbalize it.  It’s been that way since they met in theater class his first year of high school.  It was the first time he’d been without Zayn and it was sink-or-swim for him, and he found Louis- a cheeky bastard of a lifeboat. 

 

Louis extended his hand with a shit-eating grin and said-- _I’m Louis Tomlinson, and I’ll call you Curly because it suits you.  Your hair is a tad ridiculous don’t you think?  Needs a right trim._   _Shit, sorry, didn’t mean to insult you.  I’m a prick sometimes and I don’t even realize it._

 

“So,” He starts, dragging out the ‘o’, “handcuffs, Haz?”  Louis pulls his hand from behind his back and dangles them in the air in front of him with a devilish smirk.  He barks out a laugh as Harry reaches for them frantically.

 

“Where the fuck,” He reaches for the metal cuffs again but Louis is too fast, jumping away with wild laughter, “did you find these?”  Harry finally grabs them and tosses them into the pile of shoes in the corner of his room (his room is actually so messy he should be embarrassed). 

 

Louis bats his eyes feigning innocent.  He’s always been the best of the group at making people-- mostly adults-- believe they haven’t been causing mischief.  “You shouldn’t leave your toys just lying around now, Curly.  What if Mummy found that?”  Lou teases, his breath hot on Harry’s neck.  He didn’t even realize how close they’d gotten while fooling around.  Harry looks down at Louis and realizes he has his smaller body pinned against his desk, hands on either side of him.  The music downstairs is still vibrating the walls of his house and he wishes he were still drunk.  At least then he’d have an excuse for what he’s about to do. 

 

He pushes Lou’s fringe away from his eyes with his thumb, moving down to cup his cheek.  Harry’s head dips down to his ear, “What I do is none of her damn business.”  He whispers sternly, kissing his neck just above the collar of Louis’ denim button up shirt.  Harry bites and sucks at the skin till it reddens then kisses over it ‘to make it feel better’; Louis whines in the back of his throat, reaching a hand around Harry’s neck to grip at his curls.  He guides Harry’s lips to his own and their mouths ghost over each other until Louis presses against Harry’s, taking his bottom lip in between his own.  His thin lips are soft and sweet and nothing like Zayn’s chapped, plush ones.  Harry digs his teeth into the other boy’s lip and pulls back, releasing it.   With a growl in his throat, his hips relentlessly rut against Louis’.  As much as Harry tries to make the kiss rough and impersonal, Louis slows him down to a gentle pace, begging for patience and tenderness, swiveling his hips in a controlled yet determined manner.  Louis is trying to teach him a lesson, while Harry is just trying to forget that his actions will have consequences.

 

Their tongues slide together lazily, but not without desire, needy noises escaping both of them.  Harry pulls Louis by the waist so that their bodies are pressed together with no room to spare, hands sliding down to squeeze his ass.  “Fuck,” Louis breathes into his mouth, moving to exchange love bites along Harry’s adam’s apple.  They’re both halfway hard and panting, and Harry needs to see Louis sweaty and begging on his bed. 

 

“C’mere.”  Harry rasps, grabbing Louis by the hand and dragging him over to his bed.  The back of his knees knock the mattress and Louis falls back onto the bed, head on Zayn’s pillow, looking up at Harry with half-lidded eyes.  Harry crawls from the edge of the bed till he’s hovering over Louis’ smaller frame.  He lifts his hips to let Harry undo his jeans and slides them off until they’re on the floor next to the bed.  Harry struggles out of his own jeans and let’s them drop next to Louis’.  He straddles his hips and leans over his torso to unbutton his shirt, exposing a light spattering of chest hair; Harry kisses down his chest from collarbone to nipple, hands splayed against his tan skin.  Louis bucks up into Harry, soundlessly begging to be touched, cock hard.  Harry grinds down on Louis for some type of gratification.  He slides off to kneel in between Louis’ spread legs, pulling his boxers down to his ankles, taking in the sight of Louis squirming on his bed, flushed and smiling,    

 

There’s no pretense of loud music or competition, just the muted sounds of whatever party is left downstairs, and the soft panting of Louis as Harry teasingly works Louis’ cock.  His fingers are helplessly grasping at the comforter, and he doesn’t dare lace his fingers through Harry’s hair to force him to move.  Everything is so delicate with Louis that Harry hardly wants to make him wait.  He’s beautiful with his blue eyes closed, lips pressed together and eyebrows drawn in pleasure.  “Can I?”  Harry asks quietly, keeping a hand on Louis as he guides his mouth to the tip of his cock, looking up at Louis through his lashes.

 

Louis worries his bottom lip under his teeth and opens his eyes to look at Harry hovering over his hips and spread legs, mouth hot on him, “P-Please.”  He breathes,  “Touch yourself while you do it, Haz.”

 

Harry nods, sitting on the backs of his legs so he can pull down his boxer briefs down halfway, cock bobbing out of the material.  Louis licks his lips as Harry braces a hand next to his hip, to dip his body low; he takes the tip into the moistness of his mouth, lapping at it and going down a bit farther, using his other hand to grip the bottom of his shaft, twisting up in a way that has Louis moaning.  Harry moves his mouth down farther, tongue working at the underside of his cock, using his hand instead to jerk his own erection as Louis had asked.  Harry pulls up, hollowing out his cheeks until he reaches the tip and bobs down until Louis hits the back of his throat.  He picks up the pace and begins messily pulling and rubbing over the slit of his own cock till he feels his stomach muscles tightening painfully.

 

Louis reaches to touch Harry’s cheek, “Jesus, you’re so fucking beautiful, Haz.”  He grunts, and tries to keep his hips from bucking into Harry’s stretched, fruit punch colored lips.  Harry takes that as encouragement and goes faster, letting him hit the back of his throat until Louis is panting, desperately trying to tug at his curls, signaling he’s going to come.  “H-Harry.” His voice is wrecked and pleading.

 

He comes in waves and Harry continues working his mouth over his cock, swallowing the slightly bitter come and allowing Louis to ride out his orgasm.  When he’s done, Harry slides his mouth off, sitting back on his knees wiping at his mouth.  He closes his eyes, pulling erratically at his own cock until he can’t take the tension building, and he fucks into his own hand until he comes over his fingers and stomach.  He moans at the overstimulation as he jerks himself through the orgasm until his dick is limp in his hand.  They’re both panting, a sheen of sweat over their foreheads and chests.       

 

“Can we stay like this a bit?”  Louis asks quietly as he pulls his boxers back up.  He runs his fingers through Harry’s curls and licks his lips gazing at Harry’s own.  The party sounds like it’s over, which is good, and Harry is beyond exhausted.  He’s not one to say no to cuddling either.

 

“Sure,” he says, lifting up his underwear and wiping his hand on a corner of his comforter (he’ll wash it in the morning).  He crawls up the bed so he can lay his head on the pillow and curl against Louis’ side, “that would be nice.”

 

Harry lightly traces his fingers up and down Louis’ arm, pressing a kiss to the nape of his neck.  He sighs quietly and it’s a few moments before he says anything.

 

“I know this isn’t anything serious.  This was just a revenge thing, I get it.”  Harry’s hand stills and he hardly breathes.  He suddenly realizes how much of a massive prick he’s just been.  How could he sit here and use one of his best friends to get back at his boyfriend?  Harry just wants to hold Louis and tell him it meant a bit more than revenge to him, and that maybe if he weren’t so head over heels for Zayn, he’d be able to love him just as much.  “Don’t worry about me, Haz.”  Lou reassures him, turning around so he could look into Harry’s tired eyes. 

 

Harry can’t say those things though.  He can’t tell Louis that he’s terrified of being replaced, how he feels Zayn slipping through his fingers, how Louis makes it feel like it wouldn’t be so bad if he did.  Now that he thinks about it, there are a lot of things he hasn’t been able to say the past few years.  He wishes he could at least tell Louis.  He doesn’t deserve to have no one to talk to about his problems.  Instead of verbalizing, he does what he’s used to, and presses his lips against Louis’ and sweetly caresses his bottom lip, licking into his mouth lazily before pulling back.  Harry leans his forehead against Louis’, “I could love you, you know.”

 

“Don’t say that.”  He warns closing his eyes, his lips forming a tight line.  “Don’t say things you don’t mean.”

 

He can feel Louis pulling away from him and adjusting his clothes before standing up and pulling on his pants.  “I’ll see you soon, Harry.”  Louis shoots him a small smile before closing the door behind him, leaving Harry to stare at his ceiling fan as it whirrs around and around.

 

For once, Harry wished he could exist in this world without feeling completely unwanted and alone. 

 

-

 

When Liam wakes up the next morning, he drags his suitcase down the stairs past the cups and bottles and other assorted rubbish.  He shoulders his duffle bag when he gets into the kitchen and finds a note on the counter in Harry’s scribble.  There’s cab money next to it along with an empty glass and two aspirin.

 

_Have fun at camp. x_

Liam fills the glass with water and swallows the two pills.  He decides he probably should retire his rebellious side, because drinking doesn’t agree with him whatsoever.  He puked three times before he even made it to the shower earlier.  At least Harry was nice enough to foresee his misfortune.

 

He almost forgets to dig through the cabinet for his anxiety medication.  He twists the cap off and pops one of them in his mouth, taking a sip from the glass again.  The pill sits heavy in his stomach.  He hates having to take them, he wishes he were strong enough on his own to fend off the demons that threaten to eat him alive.

 

There’s a clipped honk outside since it’s still decently early.  Harry must have called the company in advance for him.  He takes the edge of the pill bottle and presses it to his forehead, silently hoping that this summer changes things.  He needs this summer to changes things for him.  He shoves the bottle in his pocket and gathers his things, jotting down a quick-- _Thanks x --_ underneath Harry’s message.  He locks the door behind him and tosses his belongings in the boot of the cab, then opens the door and slides in.

 

“Greenwood Camp, please.”  Liam says softly, looking up at the front of his house (or his and Harry’s windows to be exact).  The car starts out the driveway, gravel crunching under the tires.

 

“You got it, son.”  The driver replies happily. 

 

Liam watches through the rear window even though he knows it’s cliché as fuck; his house shrinks as he travels farther and farther away.  He hardly even notices Zayn’s slender silhouette walking up the drive, giving him a slight wave goodbye.

 

-

 

 


	2. Two

Greenwood Camp lies on the outskirts of a small town in the east, nestled into a sprawling forest.  The John C. Perkins Orphanage had bought the property and developed it into a summer camp ten years ago.  Each summer the children adopted from the orphanage are allowed to attend camp free of charge, where they can be with their friends from the establishment, no matter how far away their new families have taken them.  For the campers it’s a home away from home situation.  Even if a family adopts you, you still leave behind a group of friends that have seen you through thick and thin; the counselors found an improvement in post-adoption mood after the camp had been established. 

 

Liam is gazing at the pine trees that are so tall they seem to scrape the clouds, especially on days like today when they’re low and fluffy.  He can already feel a sense of relief and tranquility rush over him at the idea of seeing his childhood friends.  The light reflects off the window of the cab as the trees become scarcer.  He passes the wood sign engraved with green, cheesy script font saying- _Welcome to Greenwood Camp where friends are forever_.  Liam has always thought the slogan dumb, even when he was nine years old in his first summer here.  As dumb as it looks written down, there’s truth to it, especially when he sees Andy giving Danielle a piggy-back ride, running from the girls cabin to the gravel drive where there are rows of cars and cabs dropping kids as young as five off.  Danielle is slapping Andy on the back shouting something while she clings around his neck with her other arm.  They’re both grinning like fools, and it takes all the restraint he has to not open the door to that cab before it even stops.  Finally the driver puts the car in park and Liam practically throws his fare and tip at him, grabbing his duffle bag and jumping out.

 

“Guys!”  He shouts, waving a hand over his head excitedly, moving towards the trunk to drag his suitcase out.

 

“It’s him!  It’s him!  I told you Andy.  Charge you mule!”  Danielle is yelling and pretending her hands are reins in a slight form of friendly abuse.  Her vivacious curls are bouncing as Andy runs for Liam.  Before he knows it he’s being tackled to the ground in a pile of limbs and hair and laughter.

 

“I’ve missed you guys so much.”  Liam breathes from underneath his best friends.  He hopes they heard him.

 

Andy digs his fist into Liam’s thick head of curls, “Missed you too, Payner.”  Danielle pushes Andy off of Liam and takes his face in her soft hands.

 

“My sweet Liam.  You ready for a summer of extravagant mischief?”  She asks, a glint of rebellion in her warm eyes.   

 

“As long as I’m with you lot, you know I’m in.”  He replies smacking wet kisses on each of their cheeks.

 

-

 

Liam is in no way the rowdy party boy of the camp, though some of his friends are.  He doesn’t undergo this complete shift in personality once he lands on the campgrounds.  He just likes to live by a more easy-going mentality while he’s with the people who actually _get_ him.  Not only that, but Liam had taken a vow to give no shits from here on out since the school year had ended.  It’s summer and he’s surrounded by his friends; he plans to make the best of it, good and tame be damned. 

 

The cabins themselves are long and separated into two sections; both have a common room, kitchen, communal bathroom and four bedrooms.  There are about six cabins at the camp, three for the boys and three for the girls.  The youngest campers reside in the cabins closest to the mess hall and center of the camp, while the eldest campers can see the man-made lake from their back porch.  It’s a trek to get to his cabin, and it takes so long to get to the mess hall in the mornings that half the food is already gone, but Liam enjoys the calming effects of hearing the water lap against the dock most nights. 

 

Andy leads him into their room for the summer, and it’s the same one they’ve been picking since they were kids.  As soon as you walk through the cabin door it’s the first room to your left, directly across from the sliding doors that lead to the porch.

 

“Sup Josh,” Andy says, acknowledging the boy half-sleeping on the top right bunk,  “Ed.” He nods towards the red headed boy fiddling with an acoustic guitar on the bottom bunk.

 

“Hey mate.”  Ed replies continuing to pluck at the E string until it’s properly tuned.  When he looks up from his work his face lights up.  “Liam!  Good to see you, man!”  The boy puts his guitar down on the mattress and stands up to hug Liam tightly, slapping his back twice. 

 

“You look seriously worn down, Li.  Why don’t you have a quick lie down before the orientation meeting later? “  Liam knows he looks worse for wear, but to have Ed say it out loud when Andy and Danielle hadn’t mentioned it makes him a little uncomfortable.  He knows he didn’t mean it in an obnoxious way; Ed doesn’t have a cruel bone in his body, and Liam’s known him since he was eleven years old anyway.

 

Liam nods in agreement and slings his duffle bag onto the floor in front of his own bottom bunk.  He can’t have the top bunk because not only does it peak his anxiety, but when he was younger he used to knock himself out when he’d wake up from a nightmare and hit his head on the ceiling.  After a year or so of that, Andy insisted it was for Liam’s own good that they switch positions.

 

“Sounds good, Ed.  Save me a seat, yeah?”  Liam offers.

 

The boy grins, ”Definitely.”  He says, running a hand through his already unruly mess of hair.  “Get up Josh, we’re giving Liam some me time.”  Ed slaps a hand up to hit the boy in the top bunk.  A groan escapes Josh’s mouth as he swings his feet over the mattress and jumps down to land on the floor.

 

“Hey Liam.”  Josh says groggily, fixing his backwards snapback so his hair pokes awkwardly out the front.  If Josh isn’t running around raising Hell with the rest of their cabin, he’s sleeping.  He literally only has two modes.

 

Liam connects their fists in a friendly bump while Ed ushers him out of the room.  “Let’s go help the little ones move in.” He says as the door closes behind them before Liam can hear Josh complain about how boring that sounded.

 

Now that Ed had mentioned it, nothing sounds better than taking a nap right now.  He had hardly slept the night before anyway (he’s cringes even thinking about last night).  Liam’s hung over and tired and he 100% does not want to unpack his things.

 

“An _dy_.”  He whines in a tone that hints he’ll be asking for a favor.  “Wanna unpack my things for me?”  Liam doesn’t wait for an answer, just ducks his head and rolls his body onto the mattress.

 

He can hear Andy sigh, followed by the sound of the closet on their side of the room sliding open.  The hangers are clanking around and he’s unzipping and zipping different compartments of his suitcase, trying to empty it out.  “Ed’s right Li, you look like shit.  Is everything okay with you?”  He asks, trying to ask in a non-pushy manner, because if anyone knows Liam, it’s Andy, and Liam will hide in his shell until the world ends if he doesn’t feel comfortable.

 

Liam actively rolls his eyes and turns his body to face the wall.  “Just shut up, Andy.”

 

“Right. Uh- I’m going to go meet up with everyone.  We’ll save you a seat later.”  Liam can sense the rejection Andy is feeling as the door opens and closes, leaving Liam alone in the room.

 

He feels bad for snapping at his best friend but he feels on edge, and as happy as he is to be back where he belongs, he can’t stop those whiskey brown eyes and the half-wave he received while driving away, from invading his thoughts.  Liam decides that if he’s going to have any chance of getting over Zayn and every other thing plaguing him, this summer, he’ll have to tell his mates.  Tell them every nitty-gritty detail.  They’ve known him, most of them, going back to diapers; if anyone can help him redefine himself as someone with confidence and charm, it would be these people.

 

-

   

Everything had been going great until about two hours ago, when Liam went to the camp’s post office to check his box.  All week he’d been playing chicken and red rover in the man-made lake behind his cabin, and building bonfires for the little ones who wanted to roast marshmallows. Everything had been fine, and he’d been taking his medication at the proper times and he hadn’t had a panic attack since he was home, he was _fine_.  But now that he’s sitting on a log that’s been split in half, holding an envelope with Harry’s scribble on the front, he’s probably the farthest thing from okay.

 

His hands are shaking and Liam can just about feel his throat closing up, trying to push the feeling of panic back down inside of him.  The conversation around the fire continues, Danielle telling Andy he looks like a Hanson brother with his hair long and dyed blonde the way it is now, Josh and Ed laughing loudly while popping the tabs on their beers, one after another.  The conversation continues and he’s too scared to even open the fucking envelope to see what Harry has written him.  Sometimes he’s so fucking pathetic he can’t even-

 

“Liam.”  Danielle calls, waving a hand in front of his face to get his attention.  “Earth to Liam, do you copy?”  She jokes, but her brows are crinkled with worry.

 

The noise around the fire has stopped and his friends are all eying him with similar expressions.  “Yeah.  I’m good.”  Liam nods reassuringly, swallowing down any of the panic that threatened to spill out.

 

“And what’s that?”  Josh asks, pointing to his letter with interest.

 

Liam chokes because he has to tell them everything; he needs to get it off his chest.  He just doesn’t know how to eloquently sum up the whirlwind of a life he’s been living.  It’s not quite easy to say, _I’ve always thought I was straight until my brother’s fit boyfriend came along.  He sexually assaulted me on more than one occasion and Harry has no idea._

He doesn’t want to be judged.  He can’t stand the idea of being a stigma or being left behind because of his sexuality.  He’s known these people basically his entire life, and if they disown him for this, there’s literally no hope for anyone else ever loving him.

“I have, uhm,” He clears his throat, hands still fiddling with the paper in his hand. “I have a lot of things to tell you, if that’s okay.”

 

So he tells them.  He tells them everything, with no interruptions.  How home is a nightmare and he has no friends, how he’s bullied at school and his brother is one of the ringleaders.  He explains his confusion over his sexuality and the repressed memories from childhood.  He tells them about the pills he has to take for his anxiety that feels like it’s eating him alive more often than not.  Finally he tells them how he doesn’t care anymore.  Not about grades or relationships or even himself.

 

“Mate.”  Ed breathes, a hand on Liam’s shoulder to show him that he’s here and he’s not leaving; a habit Ed has practiced since Liam met him when they were eleven.

 

Danielle moves to sit on the dirt in front of Liam, taking his hands in hers.  “Liam, we love you for who you are and we’re going to help you.”  If anyone else said it Liam would have scoffed, but the genuine look in Danielle’s warm eyes has him melting.

 

“We’ll teach you how to be cool!”  Andy says with a grin.

 

“The Liam Payne Project.”  Josh mulls the idea over, staring into the blazing fire until he nods his approval.  “I’m in, let’s do this shit.”  He tosses an unopened beer can at Liam, and he regretfully lets go of Danielle’s hands to catch it. 

 

“I told you I’m on medication you tosser, I can’t have alcohol.”  Liam chastises Josh and he only shrugs in return.

 

“Your loss.  Give it back to me then.” Josh whines taking a final swig from his own can before crushing it under his sneaker.

 

Andy smacks him on the back of the head playfully; “I don’t bust my ass to get a stash of alcohol for you to drink it all in one night.  If you keep this up you can do the next beer-run on your own.”

 

He puts his hands up protectively to fend off more attacks.  “It’s not my fault I only function in two modes.” 

 

Ed scoffs, “Yeah, dumb and dumber.”

 

Josh makes a mocking face towards Ed then runs a hand through his front fringe to sweep it to the side, “No, drunk and hungover.”  His face lights up with a grin and his blue eyes reflect what’s left of the dying embers of the fire.  Liam temporarily forgets about his problems and revels in the comfortable banter between his friends.  Danielle is quiet on the ground leaning against Liam’s leg, no doubt concocting a way to help Liam. 

 

-

 

Harry used to send Liam letters while he was at camp back when he called Liam his brother, back when he liked Liam and didn’t just tolerate his existence.  Every Friday he’d get a letter telling him about all of the fun things Harry had gotten up to since Liam left.  Towards the end of the gloating, Harry would get sentimental and tell Liam how much he missed him and how he wished Liam was home with him.  Liam would be sad and homesick for a whole day after.   Those letters had stopped the summer he turned 13.

 

Something didn’t sit well in Liam knowing that after three years of never getting a letter, not even from his mum and dad, one suddenly showed up in his post box.  Once he’s finally alone, he crooks his finger in the envelope, ripping the seam so he can read what’s inside.  Harry’s handwriting has definitely improved since the last camp letter Liam received.  The words are formed with his signature loopy scribble that still manages to be readable. 

 

_Liam,_

_Things have been weird around here without you and it’s only been a few days.  I’ve been trying to keep myself occupied, but I keep thinking about the night of the party.  I hope you’re taking care of yourself, Liam.  Mum and Dad send their love._

_xx Harry_

-

 

The house is achingly quiet to the point where Harry can hear his own heartbeat.  He’s not used to quiet.  He’s used to the vibrations of music, the heartiness of laughter, the slap of skin, anything besides the faint _thump, thump, thump_.  It’s just Harry and the house.  He takes an indulgent swig of the bottle of whiskey that’s sitting loosely in his right hand.  He fucking hates whiskey but it sure as hell is getting the job done.

 

It’s been like this since Liam left for camp two days ago.  It all happened after Zayn came over in the morning, while Harry was still drunk and smelling of Louis and sweat.  There hadn’t necessarily been a blowout between the two of them, but more of a quiet, _I need time to sort this all out._ Zayn had worn his best look of remorse before letting himself out of Harry’s room, house, and life.  Now, it’s been Harry and his bong, Harry and his flask, Harry and the pack of cigarettes Zayn left on his windowsill.  About halfway through the bottle, he’s tempted to call Zayn because he physically aches from how much he misses him. There’s a lump in his throat even thinking about being able to curl into Zayn’s side, and rub his nose into the dips of his collarbone.  Harry feels like a shade.  He’s nothing when he’s just Harry.  He doesn’t know who he is without Zayn. 

 

That’s when he decides to call Louis.  He can’t find his phone though, and he remembers the last thing Louis said to him, _Don’t say things you don’t mean_ ; and he realizes he’d just be fucking with Louis’ mind by calling him anyway.  It’s probably best if Harry exiles himself a few more days.  He’ll come back to everyone ready to forgive Zayn for messing up Liam, he could apologize for getting Louis’ hopes up, he could write to Liam and let him know they’re still brothers.  He just needs time. 

 

“Harry you fuck, where are you?”  He can hear doors slamming and Niall’s accent from downstairs until Niall stomps up the stairs, throwing open his bedroom door so hard it rattles the CDs on his shelf. 

 

“Where’ve you been, Styles?”  Niall’s standing at the foot on his bed, hands on his hips in a way that said he meant business. “Don’t you ever answer your fucking phone?”  He asks, in a seemingly maternal rage.

 

“My phone?”  Harry didn’t realize how slow the whiskey had made his tongue until he went to speak.

 

“Yeah,” Niall spits, “the thing that rings and allows you to keep in touch with those who care about you? I’m quite sure you own one, except you never bloody use it when it’s important.  And fuck, have you even showered or cracked a window in here since your party?” His mouth is turned down while his nose crinkles.  He walks over to the window and opens it wide, letting in the summer breeze.

 

Harry continues to watch him from his bed, in only a pair of underwear, legs crossed.  “Any particular reason you broke into my house, Niall?”  Harry asks trying to sound annoyed when the words actually land flat and tired.

 

Niall’s rummaging through Harry’s things until he finally finds what he’s looking for.  “Oh look, forty-six text messages and twenty-three missed calls.” He says once he plugs Harry’s iphone into its charger. 

 

“I don’t get what the big deal is.  I wanted some alone time, fuck off.”  Harry’s words are missing the normal sting of his temper.  His curly hair is greasy and limp, falling into his usually vibrant eyes.

 

The tow headed boy sighs, running a hand down his face till it rests on his chin.  “I brought someone here to see you, okay?”  Harry’s face drops and Niall is looking increasingly nervous.  “He needs to see you, Haz.  He’s falling apart without you.  I know he did some fucked up shit, trust me, I _know_ , but you have to at least talk to him.”

 

“And what if I don’t want to see him?”  Harry crosses his arms across his chest and can’t help the petulant tone seeping into his voice.  His heart is doing back flips at the prospect of seeing Zayn though.

 

Niall’s blue eyes soften, and his lips turn up at the corner.  “You always want to see him.”  He gives Harry a reassuring pat on the shoulder before leaving Harry alone in his room. 

 

He doesn’t know how long he sits there staring at his bedroom door waiting for it to open and have Zayn walk through.  On his second Marlboro Gold his head is spinning from the alcohol and nicotine and he just wants to lie back down on the bed and sleep.  Harry’s head hits the pillow with a flop and he stares at the deep blue and gold tapestry embroidered with the sun and the stars that hangs on the ceiling above his bed.  He’s blowing smoke rings one after another chasing it with his finger when Zayn shuffles inside with a tentative look on his face.  Zayn looks just about as bad as Harry feels, so Niall’s rampage seems almost justified.  There are deep ashen circles under his puffy eyes, and his hair is down and soft yet sticking up in all directions as if he’d been tugging at it.

 

“Christ, Harry. Take that out of your mouth.”  Zayn curses under his breath, moving over to Harry’s bed and grabbing the cigarette dangling from his mouth, stomping it out on the ashtray on his nightstand. 

 

“Or what?”  Harry challenges him, blowing the left over smoke into Zayn’s face with a scowl.  If it’s one thing Harry hates, it’s being told what to do, especially when he’s feeling vulnerable.

 

Zayn heaves out a labored sigh, “I’m sorry, that wasn’t supposed to- I didn’t mean to sound- I’m not telling you-” He lets out a frustrated noise. Harry can tell he’s trying to make everything right but his words are failing him miserably.

 

“Zayn.”  He says softly reaching a hand out to graze his arm down until he’s holding his hand, thumb grazing over the tattoo of a bird in flight.

 

The boy presses his lips together, eyebrows fretting, but his eyes are filling with something like hope.  “Haz.”  The way Zayn breathes out Harry’s name sounds like a question, _Do you forgive me?  Do you still want me?  Can I kiss you?_   And he does.  He forgives him and wants him; he knew would forgive him as soon as Zayn walked in the door that ache that settled deep into his bones disappeared.  Harry can think of nothing he wants more than Zayn’s lips on his own.  He makes a small whine in the back of his throat and tugs Zayn onto his bed so he’s flush against Harry’s body.  He tilts his chin up to capture Zayn’s lips in his own, a desperate taint to the softness of their mouths against each other.  Harry drags his nails down the plane of Zayn’s back, and bites at his lower lip until Zayn whines, grinding his hips down into Harry’s.

 

He licks the spot where his teeth worried the skin and mouths over it, “I’ve missed you.” 

 

If Harry tries hard enough he can almost hear Zayn saying _Jesus, you’re so fucking beautiful, Haz_ the way Louis had, but all he gets is Zayn panting against the shell of his ear, “I need you inside me.”

 

Harry closes his eyes and promises he’ll work on getting Zayn to love him proper.

 

 

-

 

“Wake up, Liam!” Andy shouts at the top of his lungs, bouncing on his mattress so it shakes the entire frame of the bunk.  “Your first lesson starts now! Wake up, wake up!” 

 

“Shut the fuck up, Andy.”  Josh grumbles from his own bed, voice scratchy with sleep.

 

“What he said.”  Ed mumbles into his pillow.  Liam cracks an eye open to see that the room is still engulfed in darkness even when they don’t have a curtain to cover their window.  It has to be at least four am.  Liam outwardly groans.

 

“What the fuck are you on about?”  He finally asks, exasperated, trying to curl up into a smaller ball so Andy can’t find him and torture him with lessons on how to be cool.

 

“There’s this new thing called jogging, and I figured we’d try it out.”  Andy muses, diving onto Liam’s mattress, trying to wrestle Liam out from under his sheets.  “C’mon mate, it get’s the blood flowing!”  Liam is rolling away from Andy’s hands that seem to be everywhere all at once; he wants _sleep_ not the exhaustion that comes from a good workout.

 

“Y’know what also gets the blood flowing?” Josh asks, not waiting for an answer, “Wanking.”

 

“Oh my god, mate, don’t even say that while you’re laying in the bunk above me.”  Ed cries, tossing about on his bed uncomfortably.

 

“I’ll wank whenever I want to wank, Edward.”  He retorts.

 

Andy finally succeeds at ripping Liam’s sheets off and Liam scrambles to cover himself, because he definitely wasn’t dreaming about Zayn’s mouth spread around his cock, fingers digging into his hips, he definitely, definitely wasn’t.

 

“We’re going to get you in shape!” Andy barks throwing a pair of running shorts at Liam’s face.  “If you’re in shape, you can play sports and then everyone will think you’re fit and cool.  Simple solution to a shitty problem.”

 

“Fine.”  Liam relents, because Andy may be annoying before dawn, but he still has a good point.

  
“I don’t care what you do, just leave me out of your Satanist rituals.”  Josh says before flopping on his side so he faces the wall.

 

“Let’s get physical!”  Andy yells excitedly putting a bright yellow sweatband around his head.  Liam has no idea how he managed to befriends such lovable dorks.

 

-

 

 

It’s the little things he felt like he’d forgotten in the days they hadn’t been together; the dip of each rib Harry feels under his touch when Zayn stretches, the freckle on Zayn’s eye that adds a splash of imperfection to his intense gaze, or the angles of his legs when they’re wrapped around Harry. The two of them spend a day in bed relearning and memorizing the little things forgotten in their short time apart.  Liam is always in the back of Harry’s mind though. 

 

Things aren’t perfect, Harry has never known perfection, but his world doesn’t feel like it’s pulling apart at the seams anymore, so he counts this as a subtle victory.

 

“Quit daydreaming and hurry up you wanker.”  Zayn chokes out, throat tight, holding in a cloud of thick smoke as he talks. The bathroom door is closed and the shower vent is humming loudly trying to filter out the smoke that’s hanging heavy in the air.  “I swear my grandmum could fill them faster.” He hits the blunt again without inhaling deep into his lungs; he holds the blunt a few inches from his body as he French inhales with a cocky look on his face.

 

Harry’s hands fumble with the faucet on the sink, trying to fill up the water balloons faster. “I’ll make you do them instead if you don’t shut up.”  He’s knotting the end of the balloon with his thin fingers when Zayn grabs him by the face and licks open his mouth, blowing a thick stream of smoke into Harry’s mouth.  Harry breathes deep, filling his lungs and connects their lips moving against each other in a slow-burn until Harry’s lightheaded and drops the balloon so it breaks in the sink, splashing water on the both of them. 

 

Harry pulls away with a surprised look on his face and Zayn laughs with his tongue pressed behind his teeth, eyes crinkled, “Don’t worry, Haz. I think we have enough balloons anyway, let’s go to the roof.”

 

His head is swimming after hot boxing the room for a solid hour; he’s just high enough to float along the edges.  Nothing can bother him at this point, he’s in his content bubble, and he has Zayn smiling at him like he’s the only one in the world, and he can’t wait to get up to the roof.

 

“Niall! We’re ready!”  Harry yells through the house while he and Zayn drag the bin of water balloons into his parent’s room.  There’s a skylight window that has a ladder leading up to it “for aesthetics” his parents said when they re-modeled their bedroom to be some modern piece of crap.  Harry just uses it to stargaze or wreck havoc depending on which mood he’s in.  Today, he’s into wrecking havoc.  

 

Niall stumbles into the room flashing his brightest grin with ruddy cheeks.  Since the beginning of their friendship Niall has had permission to raid the liquor cabinet while Harry and Zayn smoke.  He hates the burn of the blunt on his _sensitive lips_ , he says.  It’s only fair for them all to get fucked up and do dumb shit together though.  Harry’s standing on the mid-section of the ladder, lifting the bin over his shoulders for Zayn to grab and put on the roof, and Niall’s observing from the base of the ladder. 

 

“If you fall ‘m not catching you, mate.”  Niall warns with a laugh. 

 

“Not that you could even if you wanted to.  My weight would crush you.”  Harry grunts, hauling himself up the rest of the way until he disappears out the skylight behind Zayn.

 

Niall sighs, looking up; he fucking hates heights.  “Couldn’t think of a lovelier way to die!”  He shouts at Harry.  “Under your fat arse.”  He mutters, making his way up the ladder cautiously until he’s finally on the roof, sun beating down on them.  He pulls his body upwards in a stretch and grabs the cigarette from behind Zayn’s ear in a swift motion.  Flicking his lighter the flame licks the tip before crackling under the pull of air, Niall shades his eyes from the brightness of the midday rays and he exhales the smoke through his nose.

 

“So,” He scratches his stomach absentmindedly, tank top riding up, “who is our target necessarily?”

 

“Everyone.”  Harry replies from the edge where he’s sitting with his knees pulled to his chest.  His green eyes are slits as he observes everything happening on their street, from the woman walking her pit-bull, to the postman pulling up to the end of the block.  Zayn fluffs Harry’s hair and smirks in agreement.

 

“Up here, the world is ours, boys.”  Zayn’s voice sounds far off even though it’s lighthearted and silly as he grasps a purple water balloon and takes aim, his tongue caught between his lips in concentration.  “Take aim and fire.” 

 

Niall catches Harry looking up at Zayn with eyes that are blind to anything else.  He takes a deep pull of his cigarette and shakes his head.  No matter how many friends the two of them make, or how many people try and come between them, it will always be a story of us and them. 

 

-

 

Harry puts down a small tumbler filled a third of the way with amber liquid in front of Niall and sips at his own.  Zayn was sleeping in Harry’s bed because the sun and spliff makes him exhausted in his bones; it’s always been that way.  “I’ve got a favor to ask of you.” 

 

Niall’s blue eyes narrow suspiciously across the counter as he swivels the stool he’s sitting on, back-and-forth.  “It’s a little early to be planning our graduation prank, Harold.”  He counters, unsure of what Harry actually needs his help with.

 

He ruffles his hair and braces himself against the counter with a heavy sigh.  “I want to write Liam at camp.”   He says.

 

Niall’s fair eyebrows shoot up in surprise, “Yeah?” It’s unexpected but Niall grins at Harry, proud of him for pushing past his usually blind stubbornness.

 

“I-Yeah,”  He scratches the back of his head and takes a deep sip from his glass, cringing slightly.  “He needs someone to talk to, I know he does.”  Harry’s trying not to cry, remembering how Liam had clung to his shirt, shaking with fear.  His voice cracks when he goes to speak past the lump in his throat,  “He’s fucked up Niall, and it’s my fault.  I just don’t know how to talk to him anymore.  I don’t know what to say to make everything better.”

 

Niall frowns and gets up, rummaging through the kitchen draws until he finds what he’s looking for.  He rubs a gentle hand across the expanse of Harry’s shoulders in a calming manner, coaxing Harry away from a guilt-ridden meltdown.

 

 

“Start off small.”  Niall says in an understanding tone placing a notepad and a pen in front of him.  “Be honest with him, Harry.  Let him know he’s not alone, yeah?”    

 

 

-

 

Liam’s at the line of trees watching the larger than life shadows of his friends dance along the ground while they sing and drink until they do something stupid.  The fire is raging at the edge of the sand leading up to the lake where there are bodies splashing with excited shouts.  He makes his way over to them, waving a hand in the air.

 

Everyone shouts his name with a chorus of different greetings.  Andy smirks at him with a nod and runs off to the water, jumping on Josh, dunking him under.  Liam turns to glance behind him.  From the lake the cabins for the senior campers can be seen, lights from their rooms shining in the distance through the trees, twinkling like a directional incase they’re too drunk to find their way back.  Liam always used to see the lights as a way to escape incase his anxiety reached a high point, reminding him he could always go back to the room.  He hasn’t thought like that in a year or so.  He’d much rather be down here in the mayhem of his dysfunctional family.

 

He feels a hand on his shoulder and he turns around coming face-to-face with Danielle.   Liam feels his eyes crinkle in that dumb grin that Harry always made fun of him for, but he can’t stop it.  “Hi Dani.”  He says, noticing that everyone else was in the water, or diving off the docks near the tire swing.

 

She quirks her eyebrow with a smile, nodding towards the distant beacon of the cabins.  “Do you mind?”

 

“Lead the way.”  He offers, noticing Josh and Andy whispering to each other while staring at him.       

 

“Liam, you know how Andy has been giving you lessons?”  Danielle prompts, taking his hand in hers, leading him towards her cabin.  The sky is a purple hue, fading to darkness through the span of trees that rustle in the summer breeze.

 

Liam nods his head, thinking back to the intense footie matches and early morning runs.  He rustles the curls of his fringe away from his face and rubs his thumb against the softness of Danielle’s hand clasped in his.  He likes how warm and reassuring it feels to hold her hand in his much bigger one. 

 

They’re outside the door of the cabin and she turns to face him, back pressed up against the glass panels of the door.  She tucks an unruly patch of ringlets behind her ear and looks up at Liam through her lashes,  “I have lessons to teach you as well, Liam.”

 

Liam’s mouth goes a bit dry at the way her voice drops to a sticky sweet tone; she brushes her fingertips up and down his arm, raising the skin there.

 

“Yeah?”  He croaks out, swallowing loudly.

 

Danielle moistens her bottom lip with a dart of her tongue, leaning up close to Liam.  Her breath puffs against his lips, tingly with cinnamon gum she always chews.  “We’ll start off small.”  She says quietly, wrapping her tanned arms around his neck, fingers threading through his curls.  Gently, she presses their mouths together, caressing his bottom lip in her plush ones.  It’s quick yet pretty and Liam would very much like to do it again.  “Baby steps.”  She coos, staring at his lips. 

 

His hands find the small of her back as he seals the space between them again so their mouths meet, the movement soft and slow.  Liam’s never felt the suppleness of a girl’s body beneath his hands, never had the opportunity to lick open plush red lips and work out a breathy whine.  Danielle doesn’t push him for more than he’s willing to give, and she kisses with understanding and fondness. 

 

Danielle rests her head against his chest, looking up at him with a smile.  “Good, yeah?”  She continues wrapping his curls around her index finger absentmindedly.

 

“I’ve- I’ve done that before.”  He tries to say with conviction, because he _has_ \- with Zayn.  “With a boy, but I’ve done it.”

 

Her eyebrows crinkle in worry.  “You wanted to kiss me, didn’t you, Liam?” 

 

“Yeah, of course, you’re beautiful.”  He kisses the top of her head, nuzzling in close to inhale the coconut scent of her shampoo.

 

“You like boys and girls, right?”  She asks.

 

Normally his airway would constrict and his stomach would heave thinking of a definition for his sexuality, but he’s fine.  Danielle is wrapped in his arms and she’s posing no threat, she wants to know that what she’s doing is okay for him, she’s worried, she cares.  His anxiety is at bay.

 

“Yeah.”

 

Danielle hums to herself tracing patterns on his back through his shirt.  “I’d like to teach you how to be with a woman, if you’re okay with that, Li.”

 

A warm feeling pools in his stomach, and he gives in to the freedom of summer.  He reaches for the door handle, opening it and letting out a low chuckle before lifting her wedding style.  He kicks the door shut with his heel as Danielle giggles with the way his left arm tickles her thigh. 

 

“Second door down.”  She points to her room that is empty of her roommate who is down at the beach with the rest of the seniors.  The senior girl cabins don’t have bunk beds like what Liam’s used to.  The camp had realized forcing four girls to live in one room created hurricanes of drama that they’d rather avoid so there are only two people to a room, making it a lot more spacious.

 

“You have your own bed.” Liam gushes, dropping her lightly on the mattress.  “Like, a bed, bed.”  He flops down next to Danielle, lacing his fingers with hers.  He didn’t have to watch his head getting onto the bed, and there’s enough room to roll around slightly.  “Wow.”  He breathes.

 

Danielle is lying on her side, her head propped up on her hand.  She watches Liam close his eyes with a smile; he looks relaxed with his halo of curls framing his head, eyelashes fluttering lightly against his pale cheeks.  “I like the way you look in my bed, Liam.”                 

 

He opens one eye to peer at her with an arched eyebrow. “Do you?”  He teases; and he has no idea when this sudden playfulness and desire crept into his body.

 

Danielle braces herself over him, loose curls brushing against his chest, eyes scanning his face. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re beautiful?” 

 

Liam blinks slowly and shakes his head without a sound.

 

“You should be told every day.”  She muses, gently sucking a kiss into the skin next to the birthmark on his neck.  “I think you’re quite beautiful, Liam.  From your floppy hair, to your button nose, to your birthmark- you’re beautiful.  You’ll grow to know it.  I’ll teach you that as well.”  She crawls onto his lap and slots their lips together, so pliant and sweet he can feel her words coursing through his veins.  Her movements make him feel cared for.  He doesn’t feel broken, there’s warmth where he’d normally feel empty, and he gives in fully to the feel of their tongues tangling together.  Danielle’s hands are spread against the broad plane of his back, nails digging feebly into the cloth of his shirt.  “Off.”  She murmurs into his ear when their lips part. 

 

Liam tugs his shirt over his head and discards it on the floor.  “Good.”  She coos, eyeing him coyly.  The caramel color of Danielle’s hands running over the dips of his chest makes him want to see the way their tones would become one.  He leans forward to lick open her mouth, loving the way her bottom lip catches in his own.  Liam shifts her body to be closer, hands on her waist.  He pulls her hair away from the side of her face to kiss the soft spot behind her ear and traces his tongue down, sucking at the skin until he reaches the dip of her collarbone.  Danielle sits up straighter and grinds down on his lap with purpose; she loops her hips in a figure eight and throws her head back with a soft moan. 

 

“You’re hard for me Liam?  You’re such a good boy.”  Liam can’t help but feel good when Danielle praises him like that.  He wants the playing field leveled though, so he tugs at the hem of her shirt until it’s off, exposing the smooth expanse of skin and the softness of her cleavage peaking over her lavender bra.  Her skin smells like strawberry body oil and he can’t help his desire to press his face against her chest, puffing out shallow breaths as she continues to writhe against him.

 

His fingers dance up her back to toy with the hooks of her bra, “Can I?”  He asks.  She nods with her eyes closed, a flush creeping up her cheeks.  He takes off her bra so the swell of her breasts are exposed.  Liam feels impossibly naïve when he stutters over his words.  “Wha-What-”

 

“Kiss me there, it will feel nice.”  She coaches, breath hitching when his plush lips ghost over her nipple before encasing it with warmth.  He flicks his tongue over the sensitive skin and suckles, Danielle’s body melting into his embrace.  “Perfect.”  She moans, lacing her fingers and tugging at the hair at the nape of his neck.  “God, you’re perfect, Li.”

 

His muscles clench as her hands move to skim his abdomen until they slide under the waistband of his pants.  Liam’s hips buck as she palms him steadily, lips wet and red under her white teeth.  He’s painfully hard and leaking when her hand stalls.  “Okay, we’re going to do something different now.”  Danielle says, removing her hand from him and scooting off his lap.  He releases a low whine at the loss of contact, but nods his head because there’s no one in the world he trusts more than Danielle.           

 

“Do what your body tells you to do.  Just follow the need, Liam.”  She lowers herself onto the bed, head on her pillow.  Her brown curls haloing her smiling face, Liam instinctually hovers over her to pin her to the mattress, trailing kisses down her stomach, tongue dipping playfully in her navel.  Danielle shudders under his touch, and her eyes are fluttering closed, hips searching for friction.  He eases off her shorts when her hips lift and lets his hands graze her soft thighs, tickling up and down the skin until Danielle gasps. 

 

“Is that okay?”  He asks with knitted eyebrows.  Liam’s so focused on pleasing Danielle he could almost, _almost_ forget about the pressing need in his briefs.

 

She grins wolfishly for the first time,  “More than okay.  Now take your pants and underwear off.”  There’s a demanding tone underlying in her velvet voice. Danielle’s tongue darts out of her mouth to moisten her lips when he tugs down his briefs, cock bobbing to lie against his stomach.  “God, I want you.”  She whimpers, leaning up on her elbow.

 

“I want you too.”  His voice is rough and low, and he wants release so badly.  Liam grips her by the bum and moves her up the bed slightly, bodies pressed flush together.  Liam’s hand moves against the moistness of her underwear, rubbing and-

 

“Nuh-uh.”  She giggles, swatting his hand away. “You’ll watch me.”  A gentle hand comes to rest on his chest and pushes him backwards.  “Sit at the edge of the bed, and learn how a woman pleases herself, okay?  Don’t touch yourself until I tell you, Liam.”

 

He swallows thickly as he watches Danielle push her panties down to her ankles before flicking them away with a delicate motion of her foot.  Her hands glide down her own thighs as she parts them, wide eyes locking on Liam’s as her fingers rub circles over her clit.  Her teeth dig into her bottom lip, trying to keep eye contact as her chest heaves with short breaths. The pace quickens and her back arches off the bed slightly, soft noises escaping her open mouth.  Liam’s cock is throbbing and he’s gripping the bed sheet in his fist to stop himself from touching, the way Danielle had ordered.

 

Her two fingers crook inside and her stomach muscles jump at the contact, “When you go inside, just-just pull forward with your fingers like you’re asking someone to come.”  Her laugh turns into a huff of breath when she strokes again, hips digging down causing a dip in the mattress.

 

“Please.”  Liam begs, every inch of his body seemingly on edge.  The pain is almost unbearable, he’s never stopped himself from coming this way before and his head is swimming watching her fingers continuously dip and coax out moans.  He thrusts up into the air pitifully, “Please, Dani.  I n-need to come.”  His voice breaks mid-sentence and she fixes him with a gentle stare. 

 

“Do it with passion.”  She sighs out.  “Don’t chase your orgasm, Liam.  Pretend you’re inside of me. Do it for me and _my_ pleasure; no one wants a selfish lover.”

 

He whimpers when he finally takes his cock in his hand, the tension built up so incredibly high.  “Close your eyes.”  Danielle whispers.  Liam’s eyelids slide shut and he bites his bottom lip as he uses the pre-come to jerk his cock in long pulls, thumb rubbing over the slit, drawing a hiss from his mouth.  He can hear the soft and wonderful noises Danielle is making from across the bed, and the springs squeak slightly under their movements.       

 

Liam can feel Danielle’s intense gaze on him but he continues to keep his eyes closed, he’s picturing Danielle spread out underneath him panting into his neck as she drags her nails down his back roughly.  “Thrust deeper Liam.”  She orders calmly.  He bucks his hips upward in drawn out motions, gripping tighter and his body shakes trying not to come.  Her breaths come faster until she’s full on panting and quietly moaning Liam’s name, and just the sound is enough to make the pressure in his abdomen become unbearable.

 

“Danielle please, can I please?”  He can’t even form a coherent thought outside of the word _please_.

 

“Come, Liam, now.”  The fierceness of the demand is lost in her orgasm, and Liam comes his vision tunneling until he’s afraid he’ll lose consciousness.  His stomach is smeared with come, and he rides out his orgasm, rocking into his fist until he’s dry and panting.  He opens his eyes to see Danielle sitting up smiling open and beautiful at him.  “Watching you was incredible.”  She observes and opens her arms to beckon him forward. 

 

Liam weakly moves across the bed until he has his arms wrapped tightly around Danielle’s flushed body.  He presses his lips to the top of her head lovingly and kisses down her curls until he meets her jaw, finally capturing her lips in his own, lazy and warm.  “How did I do?”  He asks with a silly smirk, nuzzling into her neck.  

 

“Brilliant.”  She says as she traces a fingertip over his chest.  “I hope you enjoyed your first lesson.”

 

Liam chokes out a loud laugh.  “Definitely.”

 

Danielle tips her head up to press her lips to the shell of his ear, her words barely a breeze of breath.  “You’re beautiful, Liam.  You have to know that.”

 

They fall asleep, legs tangled until they seamlessly blend.  The lamp on the nightstand casts a glowing shadow over their smiling faces.  For the first time Liam thinks he may know love outside of Harry or Zayn.

 

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was originally supposed to be three parts but I extended it to four since this section was getting to be too long. I didn't want you all to have to wait any longer so I split part two in half. I have most of part three already written, so it shouldn't be too long. Thank you for all the support I've been getting with this story, you're all amazing. If you have any questions or if you want to talk to me, stop by my blog: craicandsunshine.tumblr.com


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry this is taking forever. i feel horrible

_Liam,_

_I’ve been staying out of trouble lately and it makes me laugh ‘cos you’d be so proud of how docile I’ve become.  Still drinking and smoking though, I haven’t gone completely mental.  Niall’s been here a lot; he wants to meet you for real when you come home.  I hope when you come back we can be brothers again? I want you to be my best friend again, then I could share all of these stupid memories with you too. This is kind of a sappy ramble hope you don’t mind.  I miss you. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do._

_xx Haz_

-

 

His mind keeps track of every time his feet meet the packed dirt of the ground, _right, left, right, left_.  It’s calming to Liam, the crunch of branches under his feet and the heaving breaths that puff out of his open mouth.  He no longer needs Andy in the morning to drag him to the fitness trail, there’s no motivational yelling, just Liam and towering pine trees that line the path. He can feel himself being molded into someone unrecognizable as the weeks turn into months and the summer starts to come to a close, and it almost feels freeing.  Liam has a new found confidence in himself that spawns from the kisses Danielle trails down the defined muscles that are showing more and more.  He looks good and feels good, which makes Liam laugh because that was Andy’s motto when this whole mess started.

 

_Lookin’ good, feelin’ good, Liam!_

He can beat the lads at footie with him being the only member of his team, he can run the athletic trail three times over only to stop because his muscles ache, not because he’s tired, and he can carry Andy from the cabin to the mess hall when he’s too lazy to walk.

 

Liam is a new person and he couldn’t be happier about it. 

 

-

 

Danielle skips out on the girls rowing trip for the day and instead lets herself into Liam’s room, waiting for him to come back from his morning workout.  She spends most of the morning pacing the wood floor, sandals slapping against the heels of her feet like a metronome.  After an hour she resigns herself to sprawling out on Liam’s bed (the only one made in the room) with her arms crossed behind her head.  She curls into his sheets inhaling the citrus spice of Liam’s favorite cologne fighting a silly smile that tugs at the corner of her mouth. Her eyes slide shut and she snuggles in closer to the wall.    

 

“Dani?”  Fingers gently find their way into the curl of her hand and she jumps up, almost hitting her head on the bunk above her.  “Aw, Dani it’s okay, it’s just me.”  Liam reassures her with a wide smile. There’s sweat staining his navy blue muscle shirt and his curls are sticking to his forehead messily, he’s still the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. 

 

“Hi.”  Danielle says sleepily, voice slow.  “Fell asleep waiting for you, Li. Didn’t mean to be weird sleeping in your bed like this.”  Okay, maybe she didn’t care if he thought she was weird for being there.  She slept better with Liam and even just the smell of his cologne was reassuring to her.

 

“Shut up.”  He teases, knocking her back and pinning her to the bed.  Liam peppers kisses from her temple down her cheek to the tip of her nose until their lips meet in a languid motion.

 

Danielle pulls back and wrinkles her nose, lines forming between her eyebrows.  “You stink.”

 

“You love it, babe.”  Liam lowers his body to rub his mess of curls against her face, laughing loudly.  She shrieks trying to push him away giggling,  “You love it, you love it, you love it!”  He yells.

 

He finally quells, hanging his head over her with a dopey look on his face.  Danielle swallows down the feeling that makes her heart speed up each time Liam gives her a smile, and tries to remember that this isn’t something built to last.  Their lessons were just supposed to be lessons, unattached and a favor.  Instead, Danielle finds herself flaring up with jealousy when Liam talks to the other senior girls, she loses her breath when he looks up at her from between her legs with his earnest eyes, she cares about him even more than she lets on.  Liam is her oldest friend, and she’s amazed she didn’t realize how quickly she comfortably sank into him.  They had a rhythm and it was perfect and she was in love.  So, so in love.  That’s what makes everything so much harder.

 

“Danielle?”  Liam rushes, eyebrows furrowed in worry.  She’d gotten lost in her own mind and he’d been repeating her name.

 

She gives a slight shake of her head curls rustling against Liam’s pillowcase, “I’ve got something to tell you, Li.”

 

His goofiness has sobered up now, “Yeah, what is it Dee?”

 

Danielle wraps her hand around his first and middle finger and wets her lips the way she does when she’s nervous. “I’ve got a big audition in London for one of the best companies in the country.”  She says, looking anywhere but in Liam’s eyes.

 

He grabs her hands and bounces on the bed excitedly, “That’s great!  I’m so proud of you.” He stops when she doesn’t share in the moment.  “What’s wrong then?” He nuzzles his head into her neck, pressing calming kisses to her skin.  Danielle closes her eyes, her body humming even though she’s willing it to stop.  Liam rolls off of her and sprawls next to her linking their pinkies together the way they did in the orphanage so many years ago.  They’d share secrets under the covers of Liam’s bed, lighting up the space with a flashlight, keeping up the other boys.  She would dance for him and tell him how it’s the only thing that felt _right_ to her, he would tell her how scared he was all the time that no one would ever love him. They had been inseparable. The day Danielle was adopted they clung to each other before her new mum joked that they should have been offered as a packaged deal.  Liam cried for a week straight and only left his room when Andy coerced him. This moment felt a lot like that day.   

 

“It’s next week, so I’ll be leaving before then.” She starts, gripping Liam tighter.  “If I make it-”

 

“When you make it.”  Liam interrupts.  He’s always had so much faith.

 

“When I make it,” She corrects, “I’ll have to quit my A-levels and move into the company flat.  I’ll be living in London, dancing for a living.”

 

“Like you’ve always wanted.”  Liam offers with a half smile gracing his profile.

 

“Yeah, like I’ve always wanted.”

 

A silence settles over them and they stare at the rows of wood holding Andy’s bed above Liam’s.  The blue woven flower pattern of the mattress shows through the beams.  Danielle reaches up to stroke it, her nails slotting between the silky fibers, following the path gently.  She can feel Liam’s gaze on her and her heart sinks in her chest.  The last thing she wants to see is the wounded look in his brown eyes.  She’ll be the reason it’s there and she can’t stand that thought. 

 

Danielle turns her body to be flush against his side, sliding an arm around his waist, head resting on his chest. “I love you, you know.”

 

It’s so quiet it’s almost like she hadn’t said anything at all, simply continued her soft breaths.

 

“I love you and I’m scared.”  She says into his shirt, her eyes blurring with the tears that threaten to overrun.  Danielle should be happy but she’s not.  “It’s not the way I used to love you.  It’s more than that now, Liam.  They were supposed to be lessons, I was just supposed to teach you how to not be sad anymore but it turned into something else along the way.  I don’t want the summer to end; I don’t want to leave you again.  I hate that I’m always leaving you behind.”

 

Liam’s hand comes to stroke her hair in a soothing manner.  “I love you too, Danielle.  Please don’t cry.” He coos, continuing to whisper sweet nothings as she cries, short and hiccupped.  “You can’t always worry about me, I’m stronger now. You’ll go off and be great; I’ll always be here.  Please don’t let me hold you back from this.”

 

She sits up and gives him a watery smile, gently dragging her fingertips over his jaw.  “My biggest fan.”  

 

Liam leans up to kiss Danielle, their noses bump and their lips part, Liam licking open her mouth gently, dragging his tongue over the edge of her front teeth.  “I love you.”  He says against her open mouth.

 

She moves her lips with a quiet desperation, latching onto his bottom lip sucking lightly.  Liam leans his forehead against hers as they share shallow breaths. “I’ll wait for you.” Danielle murmurs. She’s overcome with the memories of her and Liam growing up and causing mischief in the orphanage, how they’d been outcasts together, how each summer was filled with laughter, truth or dare, and skinny-dipping.  Her heart focuses on that fond, warm feeling Liam gives her. “I want to be yours, Liam.”

 

“I’d like that more than anything.” His eyes crinkle and he bumps his nose down to give Danielle an Eskimo kiss. 

 

They dissolve into laughter and as they calm down, cuddling into each other, Danielle feels like she could conquer the world as long as Liam is beside her.  

 

 

-

 

There is a huge gaping whole in Harry’s life in the form of Louis Tomlinson. It shouldn’t matter, but it does.  He has Niall, who is the blaring sunshine, pulling Harry out of dark corners, making sure he keeps his head on straight. He has Zayn, who is the blanket you sleep with every night since the day you were born– comfortable and familiar.  He has his other friends too.  Harry’s popular, Harry has tons of friends, plenty of acquaintances, he’s never alone, but he is.  He starts over sixty text messages with Louis as the end target, most of them beginning with _sorry_ and ending with _I love you_ and a massive amount of groveling. 

 

In the end, Harry calls him as his legs dangle off the roof of his house.  He’s leaning back, hands flat against the rough shingles, mobile held up to his ear with his shoulder.

 

It rings a few times and Harry’s almost positive he’ll be forwarded to voicemail.  His stomach swoops at the thought alone. 

 

Harry holds his breath when the ringing stops, the anticipation of hearing Louis almost too much.

 

“Hiya.”  Louis’ voice is soft.

 

“Hi, Lou.”  Harry breathes quietly.  The sky is a muted grey.  Harry never thought he’d identify with the colour of the sky, but right now he’s starving for vibrance and warmth.

 

“Honestly didn’t think I’d hear from you.” Louis confesses. There’s the sound of bottles clanking together on the other end.

 

“I had time to think, Louis.  And I just– I really needed it.”

 

Louis snorts his agreement and Harry tries to not be offended at the insinuation.  He scratches his nails against the roof absentmindedly.

 

“Alert the presses, Harry Styles actually put his brain to use.”  He jokes half-heartedly. 

 

“I miss you.”  Harry says.

 

“I miss you too.”

 

“I love you.”  He blurts before he even realises the words were on the tip of his tongue.

 

Louis is silent, something that never happens. Harry feels like he might have made a mistake. 

 

“I told you not to say things you don’t mean, Harry. It’s not fair to me.” Louis’ voice is sharp and defensive.

 

“I sussed it all out though.  Louis, I swear I mean it.  I love you, and I’ve been miserable without you.”

 

     

There’s a moment where all Harry can hear is people talking and glass clinking.  He can imagine Louis running his tongue along his bottom lip in contemplation. Harry hopes he’ll give him a chance.  He wants to start new.  He wants to be happy.

 

“My floor is actually having a party tonight. If you want to come to campus. We could– I don’t know…” Louis pauses. “I’d like to see you, Curly.”

 

Harry sighs in relief at the use of his nickname, knowing Louis is loose and smiling on the other end.   

 

“You can bring Zayn, if you want.  I heard you two have quite the co-dependent relationship.” Harry goes to protest but Louis beats him to it.  “It’s fine, love. Promise.  So I’ll see you at ten?”    

 

“Of course.”

 

“Bye, Hazza.”

 

The line goes dead and Louis may not have said the words back at him, but at least he knows he’s forgiven.  This could be a new beginning.  

 

-

 

Zayn takes the stairs two at a time, his boots slamming loudly ensuring everyone in the world knows he’s here and living and creating chaos.  He almost tips over when he runs head on into his mum, swaying on his feet before blinking long and slow at her.  “Yeah?” He inquires.

 

“You’ve got to drive your sisters to see your father, Zayn.  He’s been asking to see you all.”  Zayn knows that his mum secretly still loves his father, not that he could ever conjure a proper reason outside of familiarity.  Now that he’s older he can look back and see the signs.  His mum had held on out of fear.  She didn’t know a world outside of Yaser; the bigger problem being he only saw a world outside of his own family, more specifically in another married woman’s bed.  Her face is aged around her eyes and lips though she’s still fairly young, how she’d worried and cried for years over the divorce evident on her pallid face that’s framed by her limp blonde hair.

 

“What makes you think after everything I’m going to go play happy family for a day?”  He can’t help the venom that seeps into his words, but in all honesty it’s a dumb fucking suggestion and he’s not going to go.  “I’m not going.”  Zayn turns to stomp back up the stairs, throwing his plans to go to Louis’ party with Harry and Niall out the window, swapping them for chain smoking on his balcony.

 

His mum grabs his arm gently, waiting for him to turn around on his own accord.  “Zayn.” She says softly, almost in a pleading tone even though she’d given up on getting Zayn to do as she asked, years ago. Zayn sighs and closes his eyes trying to ease away his anger. He’s not angry with his mum, he could never be angry with her, he just feels betrayed and tested when she uses that tone when it comes to his father.  He counts to three and turns on his heel, quickly wishing he hadn’t. Her blue eyes are shining with tears and through her sadness he can’t help the flare of anger at the realization his own muddy brown eyes are more like his father’s than his beautiful mum.

 

“He’s sick Zaynie.  Please.”  Her voice is a quiet rasp and her lips are contorted in a way that shows she’s trying so very hard not to cry in front of Zayn.  “If not for him, then for me, please?”

 

Even the word sick doesn’t freeze him in his place the way it should.  Sick, _he’s sick_.  Zayn definitely feels his heart stutter at the news, but he can’t tell what it necessarily means.  Just because he doesn’t want to see Yaser, doesn’t mean his sisters don’t, so he does the only selfless thing he feels he’s done in years. “I’ll think about it, Mum. Just give me a day or two.”

 

She steps forward and takes his face in her warm hands, thumbs grazing over the stubble sprinkling his jawline. “My darling boy.” She turns his head down to place a loving kiss to the top of his fluffy shock of black hair. He raises his head again to look down at his mum with a sad smile.  Her hands crawl from his jaw to his shoulders that are straining against his leather jacket to his upper arms that are penned with permanent ink. “When did you grow up so fast?” Her voice wavers over the words, and her question isn’t really a question, more of an observation, like she hadn’t properly seen Zayn since he was baby-faced and running about the yard trying to fly a kite.  She probably hadn’t noticed him and it’s not her fault, the girls needed her more, he would never hold it against her.

 

“I love you, Mum.”  He rumbles, kissing her on the cheek, inhaling the familiar floral smell of her favorite perfume.  He turns to face the front door, hand twisting the doorknob to the left.  

 

“It’s bad.  I’ve seen him.”  She calls out.

 

Zayn bites his lip and closes his eyes, “What’s he sick with?”

 

“Cancer, Zaynie.”

 

Sometimes he wishes the world would stop turning for five seconds because right now, he can’t catch up. 

**Author's Note:**

> Sort of took creative license from a prompt Caitlin (scottmcniceass) wrote (it took a slightly darker turn??) http://ziamc.tumblr.com/post/45342835543/i-really-need-and-au-where-liam-and-harry-are
> 
> I'm really excited to have finished the first part of this work. I plan for it to have three parts, though I'm not sure when the next will be published. I hope you enjoy it! x


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